


Strip

by Fessst



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Aftercare, Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternate Universe - No Werewolves, Alternate Universe - Office, Attempted Rape/Non-Con, Banter, Discipline, Dom Derek Hale, Dom/sub, Flirting, Hurt/Comfort, Impact Play, Kink Negotiation, M/M, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Safewords, Sexual Tension, Slow Burn, Spanking, Stalking, Sub Stiles Stilinski, but not on the main pairing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2021-03-03
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:27:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 58,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26564344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fessst/pseuds/Fessst
Summary: "Singletail whip. Your favorite, isn't it?"Red.Stiles felt nauseated as he bent over the bench.Red.The tremble only increased when his wrists and ankles were secured with leather straps.Red.He heard the Dom behind him give a sample crack of the whip in the air.Red.This would likely pierce his skin.So fucking Red."What's your safeword?"Red."Stiles?""The... the stoplights, Sir."Stiles's first introduction to the world of BDSM was a complete fiasco. You see, he had a crush on this ridiculously hot Dom and might have slightly exaggerated (ahem,lied blatantly) a few things on his questionnaire. Five years later the two meet again under a different set of circumstances.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 583
Kudos: 1000





	1. Yeah, THAT Derek

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Office AU with BDSM smut.  
> How original, I know.
> 
> [Russian translation](https://ficbook.net/readfic/10357172/26653797) by the wonderful Natalie aka [There is no end](https://ficbook.net/authors/4742725)
> 
> \----  
>    
> _(Please note that this is a work of fiction, not a detailed guide to BDSM. If you are interested in exploring kink, please search for educational websites and forums for information and/or check out your local scene. Fetlife is a good way to start;))_
> 
> \----

"Strip."

The command was short and succinct. Straight to the point. That's what he came here for, right? And yet, Stiles's breath caught in his throat, hands hovering around his midsection in indecision what to do.

"You heard me?"

"Y-yes, Sir." Stiles nodded, rubbing his forehead nervously. His hands shook as he fought with the buttons on his shirt, feeling like a 3-year old with underdeveloped motor function. He wanted this for so long. Pined after the Dom for months, before finally mustering the courage to approach him. It was exactly what he envisioned in his dreams. So why couldn't he do it? Why was he suddenly so nervous and afraid? Shivering.

The room was conditioned, but the temperature was not low enough to be used as an excuse for his quivering. After all, it was not an actual dungeon, but a BDSM one.

Derek just stood there looking at him, hands folded on his chest, leaning casually against the wall. He didn't smile, didn't frown. His face didn't give anything away. It was unnerving.

Stiles finally managed to take off his pants, and it was as ungraceful as it gets. He couldn't possibly stumble more if he tried. He stood in front of the Dom in just his underwear, feeling stupid and selfconscious. Derek still didn't say a word.

When Stiles failed to remove his boxers in a timely manner, Derek finally broke the silence. "Why did you lie?"

"Sir?"

"Your questionnaire."

"I.. uhm…" Stiles felt his cheeks heating up. What made him think he could do this?

" _An experienced submissive masochist_ who trembles at the idea of nudity. Either you are stupid or you think that I am. So which is it?"

Oh no, he was mad. Stiles was here less than 5 minutes and already managed to piss Derek off. _Fucking good job, Stiles!_

Panicking he dropped his boxers to the ground and stepped out of them. And no, he didn't feel sexy. He felt stupid, exposed, vulnerable. So out of his depth.

"We are still going at it?"

Stiles pressed his lips together, not daring to look at the Dom.

"Hands behind your head, eyes up, legs apart." The voice was cold and cutting, unamused.

Stiles complied. His body was still trembling, he felt slightly queasy and not at all aroused. How could he ever find this arousing? It was humiliating and he hated it.

Derek came closer, then slowly walked around him. Stiles felt the man's eyes on his body, examining him. He closed his own, fighting the urge to cover himself. He was too skinny, too gawky, too ordinary, he should have worked out more. And God, he hoped the tremble was not as noticeable as it felt.

"Why did you lie, Stiles?"

His face was close. Stiles could smell his cologne. He liked it. Tried to focus on that feeling, because he hated everything else that was going on.

"Alright. You don't want to fess up, let's move to what you signed up yourself for, shall we?"

It was probably a rhetorical question. Stiles opened his eyes and his breath hitched when he saw Derek pointing at the spanking bench. He walked over there persuading himself that it was what he wanted.

"Singletail whip. Your favorite, isn't it?"

 _Red._ Stiles felt nauseated as he bent over the bench. _Red._ The tremble only increased when his wrists and ankles were secured with leather straps. _Red._ He heard the Dom behind him give a sample crack of the whip in the air. _Red._ This would likely pierce his skin. _So fucking red. What am I even doing here?_

"What's your safeword?"

_Red._

"Stiles?"

"The... the stoplights, Sir. Red, yellow, green." Ok, there was a real chance he might throw up.

"But you won't need those, right? You like _pain_." It came out mocking. Unfriendly. Cold.

_I wanna go home._

"Y-yes, Sir."

There was a pause. Stiles closed his eyes shut, fingers digging into the leather cushioning of the bench as he clenched and unclenched his muscles waiting for the telltale cracking sound, but it wasn't coming.

"Red."

He turned around surprised. He didn't say that, did he? No, that was Derek.

"For fuck's sake kid, you look ready to pass out right here!"

"I…" Stiles wanted to protest, to argue, to demand they kept going, but Derek already started untying him.

Relief mixed with shame. That must have been the club's record for sure. Within 10 minutes Stiles made a Dom safeword on him. And not just any Dom. He made _Derek_ \- the guy he drooled over for months - safeword out of the scene before he even touched him. Could he be any more useless?

"Get dressed." The curt command forced Stiles to look up. Arms crossed on his chest, the man seemed quite annoyed with him. Sure, he had seen Derek displeased with subs many times before and it always brought a tingling feeling to his gut. But this was not a foreplay to punishment. This was Stiles blowing his chance to play with the Dom every sub in the club dreamed about.

Stiles swallowed the lump in his throat. God forbid he cried now. He already embarrassed himself plenty. He took his clothes and started dressing without a word. Weirdly enough he didn't feel as nervous anymore. He already blew it. Now he just wanted to get the hell out of here.

"This was really stupid of you. You never scened before, did you?"

Stiles shook his head, not trusting his voice right now.

"Are you even legal?"

"I'm nineteen."

Derek snorted. "And what exactly did you hope to get from this?"

"A spanking."

Derek's eyebrows rose and he let out a soft chuckle. It didn't sound mocking this time but genuinely amused, and Stiles finally relaxed some.

"Never got one before?"

Stiles's cheeks heated up. "No, Sir." He didn't have to add the honorific anymore. They weren't in a scene. He just kinda blurted it but Derek didn't seem to mind. "And I... uhm… sort-of-have-a-crush-on-you." It came out as one word and Derek took a moment to decipher it. He shook his head chuckling again, which put Stiles further at ease. If Derek would have acted like this from the beginning maybe Stiles wouldn't have freaked out quite so badly.

"So what, you wanted a Daddy to spank you, but figured it wouldn't be enough to get me interested, so you cooked this to get into a private room with me?" Derek asked, pointing at Stiles' questionnaire.

"Kinda," Stiles nodded, biting his lip. "I just wanted to be a proper sub for you."

"Well, Stiles. It's your lucky day then. Because something so incredibly stupid certainly calls for a spanking."

Before Stiles had a chance to process that information Derek put his leg on the spanking bench, gripped Stiles by the biceps, and flipped him over his raised knee, landing 5 firm but not particularly hard smacks on his butt. It was over so fast, Stiles didn't have time to prepare, to protest, to get excited, to get mortified, to get aroused, to get _anything._

"There, now you have officially been spanked. Congratulations."

There was this mocking tone again, but Stiles didn't care. The endorphin rush from being put over Derek's knee was catching up with him and spreading all over his body with undeniable pleasure.

"Never do anything like this again. And I'm serious. Lying and pretending is counterproductive and plain stupid. Do you understand?"

Stiles nodded, his cheeks blushing furiously at the reprimand. "Sorry."

Derek's face softened. "There is no such thing as a proper sub or a proper Dom. Just people doing what they enjoy. You are not any more or less proper by liking or disliking something. Don't try to put yourself in a box, and certainly never lie to fit some preconceived idea of what a submissive is supposed to be like."

"Ok," Stiles agreed shyly, still flustered over his spanking. "So would you uhm…"

"No. Absolutely not." Derek shook his head resolutely. "As a matter of fact I'm going to report you to the dungeon master and you'll likely get banned from this club. Sorry kiddo, nothing personal, but I can't have subs making shit up this way. I guess it's not the punishment you wanted, but it's the one you get, and frankly - deserve."

Stiles's enamoration dwindled. _What an absolute asshole!_

* * *

xxx

**_5 years later_ **

Stiles was late. It was something to happen on occasion, what with New York traffic on early mornings it was almost expected. Except, today he was late for a meeting with a new client, _his_ client, his _first_ client.

Stiles worked at a mid-sized construction company called Implex which specialized in the construction of hospitality buildings and office structures. He was there for a bit over two years as an assistant to the construction project manager. His boss Michael was a great guy and a great mentor. Unfortunately, he tragically passed away in a car crash two months ago and since then it was a bit of a clusterfuck at work.

Stiles was ping-ponged around from one department to another, assisting with various projects. He didn't like it, but he figured that he just had to power through this, wait for an opportunity to show his worth, and then the company will sponsor his MBA. It was one of the reasons Stiles chose Implex and traveled across the country to work there - they invested in their employees. In fact, Michael said that Stiles was on a good way to earn the company's sponsorship. But then he passed away and Stiles lost his footing.

Now fortune finally smiled at him. One of Michael's old projects that went dormant due to the lack of funding was reawakened when the unfinished hotel building was purchased by the Nemeton Hotels chain. Since Stiles worked on that project a lot, he was automatically assigned to this deal with a promise that if he proved himself, good things were awaiting him.

For the past two weeks, Stiles was busy with gathering documents, making calculations, and preparing proposals. He sent everything over last week and Nemeton seemed interested and set a meeting for today. Hiring a company that was on the project to begin with, was certainly easier than getting a different company to finish somebody else's work, so their chances were good. Still, it was not set in stone, and being late to the first meeting was definitely not gonna help it.

Damn.

You know how when you are just a little bit late, the world conspires against you to make sure you are really fucking late? Well, that was Stiles' case. He overslept by 20 minutes, using up his spare time reserved for the morning traffic, and then just as he was rushing to his car a random guy on the sidewalk crashed into him with a cup of coffee, spilling it all over his suit.

And yes, he probably didn't deserve the tirade Stiles voiced in frustration, but the timing just couldn't have been worse. The guy started apologizing profusely, attempting to "wipe off" the coffee with a paper tissue (probably not the sharpest tool in the shed) and only managing to burn Stiles further by pressing the scalding liquid to his torso.

Stiles finally managed to detach himself from the apologetic maladroit fellow and rushed back inside to quickly change into his spare suit. And okay, that red tie didn't go with his blue suit, but he just couldn't find another one and he _really_ didn't have any more time to waste on this.

He proceeded to catch every red light he possibly could, yelling at the traffic gods to cut him a break, and then the elevator gods abandoned him as well because they just refused to come. Stiles ended up running up to the 6th floor by stairs, and let me tell you, he wasn't just late, he _looked_ "late" - red, disheveled, sweaty, and barely breathing - just perfect for first impressions.

' _A wizard is never late, Frodo Baggins,'_ Stiles calmed himself quietly. He got this. His boss was a hardass, but he covered for him. Now he just needed to let the magic happen, charm everyone in the room into signing the deal, and later on no one will care that he was 20 minutes late. He will nail this and then he had a night of kinky playing to look forward to.

But first things first.

Stiles took a couple deep breaths to calm his racing heart and plastered a professional smile on his face. He knocked twice and opened the door to the conference room without waiting to be invited.

The operations manager, Mr. Deaton, stood up to welcome him. "Ah, Stiles, please join us. Gentlemen, this young man will be your go-to guy. He knows this project inside out," he said, patting Stiles on the shoulder.

Stiles nodded at his boss and then gave a quick apologetic glance at the three men present. "So sorry for being late. I had an unfortunate coffee encounter and then it just went downhill from there. Stiles Stilinski," he introduced himself offering a hand to the CEO of the Nemeton Hotels.

"Robert Finstock. No worries, we just got here," the guy reassured him, shaking his hand. "Alan was just showing us some of the finished projects that can be seen outside the window. This is my assistant Greenberg and this is our general manager Derek Hale."

"Nice to meet…" the words froze on Stiles's lips as he looked at the third guy.

_Oh shit, shit, shit. Holy fucking shitballs! That was Derek! Yeah, THAT Derek - the Dom Stiles pined after back in California._

That cocky smile couldn't be mistaken with anyone. But how was he supposed to know that d.hale@nemeton.com that was in the copy of every email, was actually Derek? They were on a different coast for fucks sake! And not like he ever knew Derek's last name. It was just not something people shared in the BDSM dungeon.

"Nice to meet you too, Stiles."

Okay, the fucker must have recognized him as well. The way he was smirking as he shook his hand, there was no question about it. He didn't look as shell shocked as Stiles was feeling, but then again he had an extra minute to process it when Stiles burst into the room sputtering apologies.

 _Don't blush, don't blush, don't blush!_ Fuck. He was totally blushing, wasn't he? He never expected to meet anyone from the scene at work. And he certainly didn't expect this kind of blast from the past! Derek, on the other hand, seemed to be enjoying his discomfiture. I would even go as far as to say he was taking a _sadistic_ pleasure in it.

_Figures._

Stiles quickly ended the handshake and turned to greet Greenberg instead. He fished out his business cards and placed them in front of the men, as everyone took their seats for the negotiations to begin.

As soon as Stiles started speaking about the project his nerves calmed down significantly. He came prepared and he really did know the building inside out. He wasn't swayed by questions directed at him. They were coming mostly from Derek, but thankfully the Dom stopped smirking at him and kept a semblance of professionalism.

Once the main points on the agenda were addressed and discussed, Finstock glanced at Derek and receiving a subtle nod, signed the contract. Stiles did a little internal dance because it meant he had just secured his first big client. Yes, it also meant that he will have to deal with Derek but Stiles was sure he will manage. After all, they talked business just fine, and he won't really have to see him all that much as most of the communication was done electronically anyway.

The men shook on it and Finstock asked about the smoking area. Deaton went to show him and Stiles beelined for the coffee machine to avoid staying at the table with Derek. But as expected, the man followed him, his predatory smirk back in place.

"Are we not gonna talk about…"

"No," Stiles said firmly, keeping his back to the man as he checked out the pastry the secretary prepared for them.

Derek let out a soft chuckle, studying Stiles' business card. "Mieczyslaw Stilinski. Who would have thought. Do people really call you Mieczyslaw?"

"No. Just the fact that you know how to pronounce it gives me creeps."

Derek seemed unaffected by Stiles' less than friendly attitude. "So why were you late today?"

"I said I had a-"

"Oh, I actually don't really care," Derek interrupted him. "But I know just the remedy for tardiness."

Stiles felt his cheeks heating up. Derek was clearly set out to unnerve him, forcing him to acknowledge their roles and get an upper hand over him. But Stiles was not a scared newbie sub anymore, he refused to be jerked around by the likes of Derek. The Dom might have been just as stupidly attractive as he was back then but he will have to try harder than that to fluster Stiles.

"You know this falls under sexual harassment, right?" Stiles asked, feigning disinterest.

"I meant that you should get a watch," Derek replied smugly, pointing at his empty wrist. "What did _you_ think about?"

_Asshole._

Thankfully Stiles didn't have to answer because Deaton and Finstock came back from their smoke break.

They discussed some of the details and logistics, but such trivialities didn't really concern the CEO, so Finstock soon got up saying that duty called. He barked at Greenberg to follow him, but the young man was too busy staring at Derek to pay attention. Stiles wondered if he was ever this obvious about it. Deaton excused himself as well but since Derek remained stubbornly in his seat, Stiles couldn't exactly leave his client and go on about his business.

"Greenberg has a crush on you," he noted with a chuckle. Stiles didn't actually know Derek's sexuality. He knew that the Dom played with men and women alike, but it didn't necessarily mean that he _liked_ both.

"Everyone has a crush on me."

Wow. Arrogant much? Not that it was surprising… or untrue.

"Some things never change huh?"

"Yes."

Stiles shook his head, muttering a quiet "arrogant jerk" under his breath.

"I heard that."

"You were meant to."

Derek leaned on his elbows, towering over Stiles in a not-so-subtle hint of power play. "Is that how you treat all your clients?"

Oh, that tone… Stiles fought the immediate instinct to lower his gaze in submission and instead stared back at the Dom defiantly. "Only those that already signed the contract."

Derek smiled. "Good, cause I was starting to feel special."

"And we wouldn't want to inflate that ego any further."

Why the hell was Stiles flirting with him? That showmanship of brattitude was pretty much textbook flirting when it came to power dynamics. Despite all his efforts to stay professional, Stiles realized that he inadvertently fell for Derek's play anyway.

Derek leaned back on his chair, a smug look on his face. "So… do you still play?" he asked, probably assuming, that they've already breached the convention norms.

"Derek, I'm at _work_ ," Stiles replied stubbornly.

"You just got yourself a 10 million dollar deal, I think your work is done."

"My work only begins now," Stiles replied, standing up and offering Derek a hand. It was good to set boundaries from the start. If Derek thought that he will dom him around to do his bidding, then he was sorely mistaken. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have another meeting I need to prepare for. I'll send you the calculations for the adjustments we talked about by the end of the next week."

He didn't have any meetings, of course, he just needed to get out before he did or said something that he shouldn't.

Derek didn't take offense at being quite literally kicked out. He took Stiles' offered hand in a firm handshake. "Well, this is gonna be interesting."

Stiles knew exactly what Derek meant by it. He was wondering himself how their cooperation was gonna go, given the circumstances.

"See you soon, champ."

That shit-eating grin and a wink successfully burst Stiles' bubble of pretend professionalism. As Stiles was struggling to find an appropriate response to this completely inappropriate farewell, Derek left the room, looking all smug as if it was _him_ who just landed a 10 million contract.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just to clarify on the age - in the first scene, Stiles is 19 and Derek is 25, which makes them 24 and 30 now.  
> I hope you liked the first chapter=)


	2. Brooklyn 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so happy to see you guys liked the first chapter^^ Thanks for all the lovely feedback!  
> Some triggery non-con ahead. Nothing too gruesome, but consider yourself warned.

Brooklyn 9, called by most simply B-9, was a kink club located (yeah you guessed it) in Brooklyn. It was hardly the best BDSM club in New York, but it was within walking distance to Stiles's apartment and it wasn't overly expensive like some of the private clubs in Manhattan. The downside (or upside, depending on your perspective) was that there weren't many restrictions and policies in place. It was public, so you didn't need some secret society invitation to get in, and it was opened daily, though the highest attendance was of course on Fridays and Saturdays.

Stiles was a regular in the club. He rarely played during the week, though he still visited on occasion to meet somebody from Fetlife for 'a drink'. He was a well sought-after submissive and rarely there was a night when he wouldn't have a scene or two already booked in advance. He was boyishly handsome, fit, playful, well-mannered, and without baggage (like drug addiction, mental problems, etc.) He knew what he wanted and wasn't afraid to ask for it. All in all a comfortable play partner.

Tonight he was playing with Lydia - a gorgeous redhead switch, who was more of a friend than a Domme to him, though they still enjoyed an occasional scene together. She got herself a new flogger and wanted to try it out on a willing ~~backside~~ soul, and Stiles was always happy to test new toys. And he liked Lydia. Not _liked_ liked, but she was a good, skillful Top.

Most of his life, Stiles thought of himself as bisexual, but after a couple of failed attempts, he realized that girls just didn't really do it for him. He was happy to be topped, but the relationships rarely progressed from friendship and romantic feelings just never developed. Not that he was particularly successful with men, either. His longest relationship lasted 3 months before they went their separate ways with no hard feelings.

Stiles didn't really mind. Playing with no strings attached suited him just fine. He got his socks off whenever he pleased and could focus on his career as the main priority.

The private room was booked from ten till eleven pm but Stiles came already a bit before nine. He greeted the girl on the front desk, asking if it was the usual tonight since the fee was higher during the specific events. When she confirmed, he paid for the entrance and the room, grabbed a blue badge with both gender symbols on it (meaning that he was a submissive willing to play with men and women alike), and made his way to the bar.

B-9 didn't have a strict drinking policy but Stiles was smart enough not to get inebriated when playing, so he ordered a diet coke and glanced around, waving at some familiar faces. The club was filling in quickly, some pairs already preparing the stations for the public scening. Stiles quite enjoyed watching others play. The more niche kinks were usually kept to the private rooms, while bondage and impact play dominated the stage, as those were the most common and preferred.

The barstool next to him gave a creek, followed by an all-too-familiar voice asking, "Is this seat taken?"

The question was rhetorical since there were still plenty of empty seats and Derek didn't wait for Stiles's reply, sitting down next to him. Stiles didn't mean to look, but by now it became an instinct to automatically check everyone's badge. As expected it was Dominant red with both genders. Nothing changed there. The bulging muscles under the tight black t-shirt were nothing new either but damn were they a sight for sore eyes. As was the rest of Derek.

Stiles quickly turned away, lest he was caught staring at that impressive biceps, and shook his head with mock irritation. "There are so many other kink clubs in New York and you just _happen_ to stumble into this one."

Derek cast him a smug look as he ordered himself a non-alcoholic beer. "I've been to others, but figured you would be a Brooklyn kind of guy."

"Right. Congratulations, you found me. So what now, you gonna try to ban me from this one too?"

He might have been all snarky but to tell the truth, Stiles was actually flattered by the fact that Derek hoped to see him in a club. Stiles was rather curious if he would ever meet his new client in the scene as well, now that he knew Derek was in New York.

"Why? Are you still lying your ass off to play with hot Doms?"

"There are no hot Doms here."

"Ouch."

Stiles couldn't help snorting. The guy was even more arrogant than he remembered. "Get over yourself, you are not that enticing."

Derek chuckled, taking a sip from his beer. "I can see at least five... no _six_ different subs that would disagree with you. Three of them collared. Tsk tsk."

"And here you are, talking to _me_ instead."

"You are the only one I know here."

"I am not your friend, Derek."

"Still mad, huh?"

Stiles dropped his gaze, unsure how to reply. He wasn't really mad, was he? It's been a long time ago. His attitude now stemmed more from Derek's bumptious approach this morning than from their encounter 5 years ago, even though getting banned from the only kink club in a 50-mile radius was a real bummer at the time.

"I don't believe you ever apologized."

"I don't believe _you_ ever apologized," Derek replied evenly.

Stiles frowned. "Me?"

"What, you wanna tell me you still think you did nothing wrong?" Derek raised an eyebrow.

"Fine, I was young and stupid and had terrible taste in men."

"That's not an apology."

"Indeed." He gave Derek a smug lopsided grin, took his drink from the counter, and went to greet Lydia.

* * *

xxx

"Wow, you look hot," he said, eyeing the redhead head to toe.

Lydia was wearing a tight black leather overall and high heels making her almost the same height as Stiles.

"Thank you!" She struck a pose, highlighting her ass and hips. "Wanna see what I have in store for you tonight?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

She took out a brand new flat braided leather flogger from her duffel bag and handed it to Stiles to examine. The leather was soft to touch, but thick and heavy, promising to give plenty of thud, the flat pointy endings complimenting the tool with a stingy finisher. Stiles whistled with appreciation. He was in for some intense play tonight. Such floggers belonged in the hands of experienced Tops, which Lydia certainly was.

"Impressive."

"Cost me two hundred bucks."

"Then how about we show it off tonight?" Stiles offered, hinting his head towards the public play area.

Lydia narrowed her eyes at him. She knew that Stiles wasn't much of an exhibitionist, preferring to play in private, while she was the one to enjoy an audience.

"Why the sudden interest in a public scene. That's not like you."

Stiles didn't beat around the bush. "Can you see the guy in a black t-shirt over there? The hot one."

"Hmm, yum," she nodded.

"That's Derek."

"Derek?" the momentary confusion was soon replaced with realization, "Oh, _THE_ Derek? From California? Wow. Ok, I get why you would cook up a fake questionnaire. I would too."

"Not recommended."

She eyed Derek again. "He is very fuckable though."

"That's not even a compliment coming from you."

"Did you just call me a slut?"

Stiles chuckled. It was a reference to an episode, when Lydia was very drunk and told Stiles she would totally fuck him, and even though he was gay, she wouldn't mind if he imagined her having a dick as he plowed her ass. Stiles laughed and pointed out that he was usually not the one doing 'the plowing'. They never had sex together, but since then the notion that "Lydia would fuck just about anything" became a running joke between them.

"No, Ma'am. I would never…" Stiles quipped, grinning. "Anyway, that's not all. He is my client. I just had a meeting with him today. My company is building a hotel in lower Manhattan for the Nemeton chain and he is one of the managers."

"Cool! So you are hooking up tonight?"

"No! Of course not. The guy is a dick!"

Lydia gave him a skeptical look because _that_ never stopped Stiles before. In fact, a strong, experienced Dom with a mean streak was Stiles' ultimate go-to.

"And I would never jeopardize my work like that," he added, seeing as the first argument didn't fly.

"Ok, I get it, you want him to watch."

There was no point in denying it. " _Yes_. So do your worst."

"Oh, you got it, baby boy. You won't be walking straight tomorrow."

* * *

xxx

The St. Andrews cross, also called X-cross was something Stiles was tied to many times before. Flogging was also not exactly a novelty to him, although the new flogger definitely promised to pack a proper oomph. Stiles stripped off his clothes, feeling his cheeks color a bit. He kept his eyes downcast, partially in a sign of submission and partially out of embarrassment.

No, he was not a trembling inexperienced sub anymore, but public nudity was still pushing his comfort zone. Stiles knew he had nothing to be ashamed of, he worked out plenty to keep himself in shape, and was shaved in all the important places. He looked well. He wanted Derek to see him like this - confident and comfortable in his role.

Lydia caressed his cheek murmuring a quiet "Good boy" as she handcuffed him to the cross. Stiles was never particularly nervous when playing with her. She knew his limits well, never missed her target, and always sensed when he needed a breather without him asking for one. Stiles turned around subtly glancing to gauge the audience. There were quite a few people already gathering around. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Derek still sitting at the bar but before he could get a proper look, his vision was cut off with a blindfold.

"No, wait, Lydia," he protested quietly. Addressing the Top by the name was a "soft yellow" for Stiles - a subtle way to communicate that he didn't like something without breaking off the scene or using a safeword. The Tops didn't have to react, they could even reprimand him and ask for a proper title, but those that played with Stiles more often knew that he didn't do it out of defiance.

"I know you want to be able to see if he is watching you," Lydia whispered softly in his ear. "And he totally is. But I want your focus where it belongs. In here. With me."

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Atta boy."

Lydia started off with a softer flogger for warmup, striking Stiles' shoulderblades, backside, and upper thighs with quick precise licks. It was a warmup for her just as much as it was for Stiles since one could do real damage with a bad aim when wielding a heavy implement. Stiles always enjoyed that part, the warming strikes were pleasant, helping him "down" into a proper mindset and preparing him for the more intense pain to come. He was in a state of semi-arousal, but that was rarely the point. He won't be getting off tonight anyway.

"Alright Stiles, I think, we got a nice color on you," she said, running her gloved hand against his sensitive cheeks. "Ready for the desert?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

The following strike was a delicious mix of burning sting and intense pain that went deep into the muscle tissue of his backside. Stiles let out an unrestrained yelp, prompting a couple of appreciative chuckles from the onlookers.

Lydia gave him a few seconds to recuperate and then swung again, striking his butt from the other side.

 _Ouch!_ Sitting was gonna be _fun_ for the next couple of days. Thankfully Stiles had a weekend ahead of him and by Monday most of the soreness will be gone. Like most, Stiles was not into super-heavy pain play and avoided blood and excessive bruising, but he enjoyed a mark or two to remind him of his kinky times. His pain tolerance was decent, but it didn't take much to get a genuine reaction from him.

That was another reason why Stiles was a popular submissive in the club - he gave a pleasant amount of "feedback" without making a theatrical performance out of it.

Lydia was just about to breach double digits when she was suddenly called away by her friend Kira. Stiles didn't hear what was being said, but Kira sounded quite worried.

"Be a good boy and wait for me here, alright? I'll be right back," Lydia told him, giving his sore butt a few gentle pats.

"Yes, Ma'am," Stiles replied automatically and then regretted it almost right away. He was not comfortable with being left alone tied to a cross in public, especially when blindfolded. This was very much a "yellow" territory for him, but Lydia was gone before he could voice his objection.

He never had a Top break off a scene in the middle of flogging like this before. Something must have happened for Kira to interrupt them. And just as he was getting into this nice floaty state too. Now the mood was rapidly vanishing and Stiles felt a smidgen of irritation since he doubted that he would be able to get back into the right mindset to continue with the intense flogging. He heard the crowd dissolving behind him, as everyone went to see another scene playing out on the other side of the play area.

After a few minutes, out of nowhere, the sharp burning pain erupted on his ass eliciting a surprised howl from Stiles. It was such a dick move for Lydia to start whipping him again without warning. If it was any other Top, Stiles would already be safewording in anger.

"Jesus Lydia, warn a guy, will you?" he snapped, his tone far from polite.

He was immediately punished for his outburst with several more burning strikes landing square on his upper thighs.

"Aghhh!"

Lydia clearly didn't care for his disrespect, because the blows kept coming down in quick succession, leaving no time for Stiles to cope. Normally he might have welcomed a swift painful reprimand as the idea of punishment was always a big turn on for Stiles. But not this time. The unfairness of the situation was grating on him, ruining his headspace. First, she left him, and then she sneaked on him without a word and started thrashing him?

"Shit, Lydia, not so high!" he yelped, when the flogger hit his lower back - a no-go area due to potential kidney damage. The next blow went even worse as the tails wrapped around his middle and hit his stomach, making him howl in anguish. If Stiles wasn't tied up, he would have doubled over, because this was definitely NOT the good kind of pain. "STOP!"

Two hands grabbed his hips and Stiles was hit with a pungent stench of sweat that was most definitely not Lydia's.

"Red!"

His asscheeks were spread apart and a fat finger penetrated him ruthlessly. "You are not laughing _now_ , are you?" a male voice sneered from behind him. Stiles would bet that he'd heard it before, but right now he was too busy freaking out to give it much thought.

"Get the fuck off me! RED! REEED!" Stiles yelled, trashing against his restraints. The guy ignored the safeword and continued to fingerfuck his ass for a couple more horrible seconds before he was knocked away with a blunt sound, which sounded like a punch.

"What the FUCK are you doing?!" he heard Derek's angry snarl. "Is this how you supervise this shit?! Stop standing there like an idiot, get him! This is a fucking assault!"

Stiles then realized that Derek was actually yelling at one of the Dungeon Monitors. Stiles shared the sentiment, but more importantly, he needed to get the hell out of there. NOW! "Get me out. Get me out!"

"Easy, easy. I'm untying you," Derek said softly. But he wasn't doing it fast enough and Stiles kept pulling at the restraints anxiously. " _Stop_ struggling, you will hurt yourself." The firm command helped soothe the panic and Stiles obeyed on instinct.

Derek made a quick work of his wrists and went to untie his ankles. "Almost done."

Stiles immediately took off his blindfold and saw the entire club staring at the unfolding scene, which somehow made the whole situation a hundred times more dreadful. He couldn't see his assailant, nor any of the DMs, which meant that either they took him away, or he managed to run away.

Stiles stumbled away from the cross and his knees gave out. Derek must have been expecting it, because he readily caught him, snapping at the onlookers to hand him a blanket.

"Find his clothes and his Domme," he ordered as he wrapped the blanket around Stiles and led him towards the private rooms away from the crowd. He looked lost when they reached the area though, as he obviously never been here before.

"Room three," Stiles said, pointing towards the room he booked himself. Derek took him there, sitting him carefully on the sofa and shutting the door firmly behind him. He handed Stiles a complimentary bottle of water which was always present in the private rooms, and then simply took a seat next to him.

Derek didn't talk, which Stiles appreciated. He definitely didn't want to discuss what happened. He just wanted to get home. And take a shower. A very thorough shower.

Three minutes later there was a knock on the door and Kira's head popped in. "Oh my God, Stiles, are you ok? I just heard…" she trailed off after seeing the look Derek sent her. "I brought your clothes."

Stiles silently took them and started dressing right there in front of them. He couldn't care less about his nudity now. "Where's Lydia?"

"She left for the hospital. I got a phone call from her mother about her dad getting hit by a car, and she couldn't reach her… I'm sorry, I…"

"It's alright," Stiles interrupted her, not really wanting to hear apologies, because it would force him to think about what brought them on. He contemplated sitting in the room for a bit longer till the commotion died out and he could slip out of the club without the unwanted attention, but then decided that he didn't care.

"Do you want to call the cops?" Derek asked him, breaking his train of thought. "The asshole got away, but you could still report the incident."

 _Yeah, no thank you._ The last thing he needed right now was to spend the night at the police station explaining BDSM etiquette. "Did you manage to get a good look at him?"

Derek shook his head. "He was wearing a leather mask."

"Then it's completely pointless." The club checked IDs only for age, and with the number of people in the club tonight, there was no chance the girl on the front desk remembered anyone's name.

Stiles didn't wait for a reply and walked out of the room towards the exit. Derek followed him, trailing one step behind. The play area was rather empty, as most of the people were at the bar discussing what happened. Stiles ignored the looks sent his way and sped up his pace.

"Come, I'll give you a lift," Derek said, as they walked out on the street.

"No need, I live nearby," Stiles waved him off and turned to leave, but Derek caught his wrist.

"It was not a suggestion. _Come._ "

Any other time Stiles might have scoffed at the domineering gesture. Just because he was a submissive, didn't mean that he would let just about anyone order him around. But right now he was simply not in a state to argue. Besides, not like he actually _wanted_ to walk home right now.

Looking at the dark grey Audi A8 Stiles realized that managers in Nemeton hotels were making quite a fortune. Perhaps he should rethink his career path. Stiles chose not to comment on it and simply climbed in the passenger seat.

He navigated Derek to his apartment building, feeling like the flashy car was a bit out of place in this Brooklyn neighborhood.

"Thanks for the ride," he said, opening the car door.

"Wait. Do you have anyone home?"

"Huh?"

"Boyfriend, girlfriend, roommate, sibling, parent? Anyone who knows about the lifestyle?"

"No, I live alone." He watched Derek shut down the engine and unbuckle his seatbelt. "Wait, you don't have to…."

"Unless you are going to drag your Domme from the hospital, I'm coming with you."

There was this bossy tone again, like this was not up for negotiation. Stiles found it hot on some and annoying on others. He wasn't sure which category to put Derek in yet. ( ~~Oh Stiles, you liar~~ ) Regardless, Stiles didn't have the strength to fight him on it.

His apartment was small, one tiny bedroom, and a living room with a joint kitchen. Nothing fancy, but it was good value for money. Stiles refused to feel bad about the mess he left in the living room. Even though it wasn't too bad, he would have tidied the place better if he expected visitors. But since Derek pretty much forced himself in, uninvited, Stiles didn't bother with pleasantries.

He grabbed a change of underwear and went straight for the much-needed shower. Derek followed him into the bathroom.

"Derek, I need a shower," Stiles said, hoping the Dom will take a hint.

"Go on."

Hmm. He did not, so Stiles didn't beat around the bush. "Get out."

"No."

"I mean it."

"I have already seen you naked."

Stiles knew what Derek was doing. It was generally advised not to be alone after an intense scene, especially given the way this one turned out. But Derek's presence in the bathroom was definitely unwarranted. "I'm fine," Stiles said firmly. He didn't care about nudity, he just needed some alone time.

"Look, you've just had a-"

"Alright, you know what?! You are right. I'm not fine, I'm _pissed_. I'm pissed that you are trying to make it a bigger deal than it is. I'm pissed, that you are patronizing me as if I was still that 19-year-old inexperienced clueless boy. Well, I'm not. And I'm not stupid, suicidal nor dropping, and if I was I'd be mature enough to ask for your help. Now respect my fucking privacy and get the fuck out!"

Derek looked like he might object but then he just turned on his heel and walked out, leaving the door ajar.

Stiles longed for a hot shower but with his ass being this tender he could only opt for a lukewarm temperature. He scrubbed himself inside out, trying to purge the memory of those meaty fingers on his body... penetrating him. Technically it was nothing that he hadn't experienced before. A couple of badly placed blows and some ass fingering. Big deal. But then why was he feeling so violated?

_Ugh._

He might rethink his rape roleplay fantasies now. A few seconds of noncon finger penetration should not leave him endlessly traumatized, but it sure made for a nasty experience. Enough to put those fantasies to rest for the near future.

Stiles put on the bathrobe and went to check on Derek. He wouldn't be surprised if the Dom decided to leave after his outburst, but that turned out not to be the case. Derek was sitting on his sofa, reading a fitness magazine that Stiles left on the coffee table, making himself at home.

Stiles felt a pang of guilt for lashing out at him. "Uhm, can I offer you anything?" he asked awkwardly. "Coffee? Uhm, there is some diet coke in the fridge. Protein shake?"

Derek's lips twitched. "Coke is fine."

Stiles handed him the can and a glass. "I uh… I'm sorry I snapped at you."

"It's alright, it was a hard day," Derek replied in a conciliatory manner. "Unless of course, that was you asking for a spanking," he added with a smirk.

Given the raw state of Stiles's ass, the idea shouldn't have been so stupidly appealing. "I think I've had enough impact play for one day."

Derek tilted his head with a 'what a shame' kind of grin and took a sip from his glass. "Speaking of. We should check for the bruising. Do you have arnica?"

"Second shelf to the left," Stiles pointed at the cupboard as he poured himself some coke as well.

Derek looked through the content of Stiles' med cabinet, but instead of grabbing the arnica, he took the capsaicin cream next to it. "Now _this_ would make for a lovely aftercare," he joked. "Putting the two right next to each other, one could _accidentally_ pick the wrong one."

"I don't usually invite sadists home," Stiles only half-joked since he really rarely played at home.

"Oh, I'm honored."

"You weren't invited, you barged in."

"And I'm also staying the night."

"Be my guest. The couch is all yours."

"Right now it's all yours. Lie down," Derek instructed, using that tone again. And ok, Stiles liked it after all.

He took off his bathrobe, standing in just his underwear and looking at the welts on his stomach. Derek's frown gave away his feelings on the matter, his hand gently brushing against the red skin above Stiles' belly button.

"That's the coffee burn from this morning," Stiles explained.

The Dom nodded, applying the arnica cream to all the damaged areas and then guiding Stiles to lie down on his stomach. After examining and treating his lower back, his fingers hooked under the waistband of Stiles's underwear, but then he hesitated.

"I'm going to put some on your butt and thighs now." It wasn't phrased as a question, but Derek didn't proceed till he got a nod from Stiles to go on.

Despite the gentle touch, Stiles still hissed in pain a couple times, his eyes getting glassy. Especially once Derek moved on to his thighs, the memories of the incident started rushing in, plaguing his mind with unpleasant imagery.

Stiles tried to subtly wipe the wetness from his eyes, but Derek must have noticed it because his hand came to a halt.

"Alright. I might be dropping a bit after all," Stiles admitted.

"It's alright," the Dom said softly. He lifted Stiles' upper body and sat down on the sofa, placing a pillow in his lap and then lowering Stiles to lie back down. He used Stiles' bathrobe as a blanket, covering him, and wrapped a hand around his shoulder, while the other brushed through his hair, massaging his scalp in a slow circular motion.

"Hmm, this feels nice," Stiles purred, closing his eyes. He loved a good cuddle after an intense play, but this was better. Derek's skillful fingers felt heavenly, effectively forcing all the thoughts out of his mind, while the strong hand holding him made him feel safe and protected.

"Just relax."

Stiles did. And a few minutes in, the head-scratching successfully lulled him to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arnica is commonly used to treat bruising, while capsaicin is an extract from chili peppers which creates a lasting burning sensation (kinksters use it as a form of "silent spanking"). So applying it on an already irritated bruised skin would make for quite a torturous aftercare;)


	3. Swordplay

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A slower chapter, but hopefully still enjoyable=)

Stiles woke up in his own bed, feeling surprisingly well-rested. One would expect that after the events of last evening he would be plagued with nightmares all night, but that was not the case. Or at least if there were any unpleasant dreams, Stiles couldn't recall them. He vaguely remembered Derek waking him and leading him to bed in the middle of the night. He must have fallen asleep right there on Derek's lap.

Which was… well… _awkward_ , to say the least.

Not that Stiles was complaining, it was really nice of Derek to take care of him after the unpleasant incident. But now that Stiles wasn't feeling vulnerable anymore, he felt embarrassed.

His plan to show off in front of the Dom kinda backfired. He wanted to appear as this cool, hot, and confident sub, to make Derek regret his actions, to make him see just who he said "no" to 5 years ago (even if at the time he was nothing of the sort). Instead, he ended up having another episode of "scene gone wrong" with panicked shouting and trashing against restraints, needing to be rescued and calmed down.

Don't get me wrong, Stiles wasn't feeling self-conscious about his reaction, which was absolutely normal and expected. He just didn't want _this_ to be how Derek saw him.

He got out of bed and checked his butt in the mirror. Whatever that asshole lacked in aim he compensated in strength since the welts on his thighs were way nastier than a couple marks on his ass that Lydia gave him. His lower back and stomach were not as bad though. Thank god for that.

After dressing and completing the usual morning bathroom routine, Stiles headed to the kitchen. Derek was still asleep on the couch, covered in Stiles's bathrobe as a blanket, and twisted in an unnatural wannabe-contortionist position to fit in. It was only a bit after 8, and Stiles contemplated letting the guy sleep some more, but then decided that Derek was going to be dead and sore after a night on the couch regardless. He put on the coffee maker and grabbed eggs and bacon from the fridge.

Stiles wasn't familiar with the protocol for this type of 'one-night lap-sleep', but he figured that breakfast would be considered a courtesy. As expected the sounds of cooking soon woke Derek up. Stiles heard the accompanying groan and couldn't help chuckling.

"Shit. I feel like a stevedore after a 12-hour shift," Derek grumbled sleepily, stretching his arms with a wince.

"You kinda look like one too," Stiles quipped and when he saw Derek lift his collar to smell himself, he clarified, "I meant your hair." Perfectly gelled the previous night, it was sticking in all directions now, making him look rather comical. "I should have a spare toothbrush in the bathroom cabinet. There are also fresh towels there if you want to take a shower." Stiles might have been a crappy host the previous night, but he wasn't entirely discourteous. "How do you take your coffee?" he called as Derek headed to the bathroom.

"Strong, black, no sugar."

Well, at least that fit perfectly with Stiles' perceived image of the Dom.

***

Derek emerged 10 minutes later, his hair wet and combed back, the surly expression set in place indicating he was not much of a morning person. He slumped at the table and watched Stiles fry the bacon, constantly fidgeting on the seat in an attempt to stretch his back.

Stiles looked at his suffering without a smidgen of compassion. "You act as if _you_ were the one to get a serious thrashing last night," he joked, handing Derek his coffee. He was rewarded with a grumpy glare in place of a thank you.

"Your couch sucks."

_Rude. (Even if true.)_

"No one forced you to stay the night."

"A good host would offer his bed."

"A good guest would not overstay his welcome," Stiles shot back, placing two plates with scrambled eggs and bacon on the table.

"Huh… and what's this then?" Derek raised an eyebrow, nodding at the food. Obviously, if Stiles just wanted to get rid of him, he wouldn't cook for him.

"This is a…" Stiles trailed off, averting his gaze for a second before meeting his eyes again. " _Thank you_. Seriously. As much as it was unexpected given well… you know," he waved his hand nonsensically, "It was nice of you."

"Why unexpected?"

"I mean…" Stiles hoped that it didn't sound offensive, since he was trying to actually show his gratitude for once. "I don't exactly see you for the first time." He wasn't as much referring to their encounter together as Derek's forbidding persona in general from back in the days.

Derek was a strict, no-nonsense Master, prancing around with a whip in his hand and glaring at anyone who spoke out of turn. He rarely coddled or praised his play-partners, but watching him in action was still immensely mesmerizing, as he could send a swarm of butterflies into the stomachs of every submissive present with just one disapproving look. He had zero tolerance for backtalk or bratting and was always quick to punish. Stiles watched him reduce subs into a weeping blubbering mess, screaming their thanks with every lash and eagerly kissing his shoes after.

Not every scene was this extreme of course and for Stiles, the appeal was never in the harsh whippings anyway, it was Derek's easy dominance and absolute control he exerted over his play partners that made Stiles weak in the knees. (And the fact that he was extremely attractive also didn't hurt.)

Stiles never witnessed aftercare, as that was usually done in private, but a thoughtful gentle approach was certainly not something he expected. But then again, he never expected Derek to be this dickish playful cock of the walk outside of the scene, either.

"You are also not the boy I remember," Derek replied evenly. It sounded like a compliment. Was it a compliment? The way he looked at Stiles as he said it was unnerving. Stiles forced himself not to overthink it, as he gingerly lowered himself in a seat opposite of him and focused on his own plate.

Nothing else was said between them, but Stiles didn't feel the need to fill the void with mindless chatter. The silence was not exactly comfortable, but it wasn't overly strained either.

Finally, Derek set aside the flatware and got up. "Thanks. I should be going."

"Sure." Stiles walked him to the door, wondering if he should thank him again, or say something work-related to ease the awkwardness.

"You ok?"

Stiles nodded with a sheepish smile, his cheeks pinkening slightly at the reminder of the incident.

"You should call your Domme," Derek said, breaking eye contact. "Tell her what happened."

"I'm not gonna bother her with this bullshit."

"Yes you are, she needs to know." There was this bossy tone again. Derek apparently couldn't go 5 minutes without channeling his inner Dom.

"She is not actually my Domme. Just a friend." Stiles wasn't sure why he had the sudden need to clarify it. Not like he had any intentions towards Derek. (Stop rolling your eyes. He did not!)

If Derek was glad to hear that, he didn't show it, simply shaking his head a pressing on. "She was your Top at the time. Call her."

Stiles knew Derek was right. If anything he should inquire about Lydia's dad. But at the same time, the fact that Derek kept issuing those suggestions as orders made Stiles automatically rebel against them.

"Would it kill you to say "please" or use "should"? Now if I call her, it would look like I'm obeying you. Which I don't want to because you have no business telling me what to do," he grouched, eliciting one of those obnoxiously smug smiles from Derek.

"You'll get used to it, champ."

* * *

xxx

Stiles didn't have a strong presence on social media, but he did check his FetLife account almost every day. It was a good way to come across new play partners and meet like-minded people. He followed a couple groups revolving around his kinks and also one for Brooklyn 9 club. He decided to check it out to see if anyone mentioned what happened yesterday but before he could do that, he noticed the notification about new comments on his pictures.

His profile had a couple of artistic BDSM photos of himself. One of Lydia's friends was specializing in kink photography and Stiles modeled for him once, resulting in a dozen very nice sensual pictures of bondage and impact play. One of them even showed his face grimacing in pain. Stiles would normally never share his face on a kink website, but he was not exactly easily recognizable here. It was a beautiful play of light and shade, and only his contour was visible, showing emotion but not giving away his identity. It was Stiles's favorite picture.

All of the comments were by the same person - 'anon_painbringer'. Stiles chuckled at the nickname, even though his own 'mischief_stiles' wasn't much better. He ignored the questionable compliments like " _fuckmeat"_ , frowned at " _bet you squealed like a pig"_ and then opened the last comment on the abovementioned portrait and blanched.

" _Not laughing here either."_

A shiver ran down his spine and Stiles scratched his arms in an attempt to wipe off the lingering foul feeling of yesterday's night.

_That fucker!_

Stiles clicked on his profile. It was empty. '99M Kinkster' was all there was. Stiles deleted the comments and then reported and blocked the asshole. What the fuck was his problem? Did Stiles pass on him in one of those "Fuck or Pass" games or what? Gave an insensitive comment? Didn't reply to his message?

Perhaps he shouldn't have been so open about being a regular in B-9. It never occurred to him that somebody online would care enough to find him and assault him. Unless of course, it was somebody Stiles knew outside of the internet. He could swear it wasn't the first time he heard that voice. But then again, at the time he was in a lot of pain and it was just one sentence, he might have imagined it. Stiles refused to entertain the idea that it could be somebody he knew in person because it just made it so much more awful.

He will just have to be more careful about his online presence from now on. Witty sarcasm while appreciated and understood by most, could apparently backfire when directed at the wrong person. And public play will be put on indefinite hold as well. Well, he should probably take a break from _any_ scening till his bruises heal anyway.

Lydia sounded so apologetic on the phone, he felt bad for even telling her. Thankfully, her dad was not injured too badly, just a couple of broken bones, though it likely made her feel even worse about what happened to Stiles. She bullied him into accepting a lunch invitation on Wednesday, which Stiles originally denied but only to give her a sense of accomplishment once he finally agreed to let her pay. In reality, he had no problem with it. In fact, he was ready to put the whole thing behind him and move on.

* * *

xxx

Monday came and Stiles dived into work with unprecedented vigor. After all, this was the first project that was his own, and he wanted to prove ( ~~to no one in particular~~ ) that he was fast and efficient. On Tuesday he already mailed Derek the corrected proposal, including the unsolicited addition of extra garage parking spaces, which had a great price/output ratio that Stiles felt very confident about.

The email was received and read, but no reply was given. Stiles didn't want to appear obnoxious, so he waited a _whole_ day, before deciding to call Derek and ask for feedback. This was work, ok? It's completely expected to communicate with your client, so stop reading so much into it, will you?

A cheerful female voice answered the phone. "Dunder Mifflin, this is Pam."

"Wha..what?"

"Just kidding. Nemeton hotels, this is Erica, how may I help you?"

Crap, Stiles thought he was calling Derek's cell. "Can I speak to De… I mean, this is Stiles Stilinski from Implex, may I speak with Mr. Hale?" There, that sounded better.

"Just a minute," she chirped and the line went silent for a minute or so. "Putting you through, Mr. Stilinski."

The beeping sound was followed by Derek's gruff, "Yes?" You know, the kind that indicates that the person is busy and you better have a good damn reason to disturb them. The kind that makes you want to end the call before even saying anything or pretend you just dialed the wrong number. Yeah, that kind.

"Uhm…" Eloquence level master. Stiles' third grade English teacher would be proud.

"Stiles? What is it?" Derek sounded impatient and Stiles already regretted his rash decision to call.

"Have you seen the proposal?" Stiles hoped he didn't sound as sheepish as he felt right now. _Pull yourself together, Stilinski, for fucks sake._

"Yes."

He waited a second in case Derek felt generous enough to elaborate, but no such luck. "And?" he prompted.

"It's ok."

Wow. Stiles might not have had a praise kink size of a mountain as some subs out there, but this lack of acknowledgment stung!

"And the parking spaces proposal?"

"No, that won't be needed."

Clear dismissal. Perfect flawless delivery. Not even a smidgen of ambiguity. But Stiles was not ready to let it go.

"Wait, wait, have you seen it? Do you know the usual price per underground parking space in the area? This is like one quarter of what you would usually pay. And you're currently on 15% of coverage which is-"

"Stiles I don't have time for this right now," Derek interrupted him. "Come over after 14:00 and you can make your case."

"Oh, ok," Stiles barely finished saying as the line went dead.

Well, wasn't Derek just a sweetheart? A pure godsend to deal with. Stiles resisted an urge to throw his phone in a random direction and went to do something more productive instead. But not before taking a calming coffee break.

***

At exactly 14:05 Stiles was stepping in front of a 4-star Nemeton Inwood hotel, where Derek had his office. He already checked that it was only 10 minutes by foot to the nearby Sheraton, which had a very similar parking design to the one he was proposing, and Stiles (for reasons unknown) was dead set on his agenda.

He had no trouble navigating to Derek's office. The door was opened and Stiles peeked in seeing Derek furiously typing something on the laptop. He gave a polite knock to announce his presence.

Derek's eyes snapped to his and a brief smile passed his face. "Stiles," he greeted, standing up and offering his hand just as his cell phone started ringing. "Sorry, please sit down," he pointed at the chair and went to answer the call. "... Or on the couch if it's more comfortable."

Derek didn't even smirk as he said it and yet Stiles was pretty sure he knew exactly where Derek was coming from with that suggestion. To prove a point Stiles flopped down on the hard chair as carelessly as he dared and it took a lot of willpower not to wince.

Now Derek was definitely smirking.

Too late Stiles realized that acknowledging that he was sore would be less embarrassing than this spectacle for Derek's amusement. But that's what an adult would do, and Stiles apparently left his adult self on the parking lot to act like an obstinate teenager in front of the Dom.

Well, no more. Focus. Stiles summoned his business persona, took out the prepared data ammunition to support his proposal, and put his game face on.

***

Derek was a dick.

That in itself was no surprise. But he was also a steadfast no-nonsense dick, disregarding all Stiles's carefully constructed arguments like nobody's business. And instead of simply adhering to his client's wishes, Stiles made it his mission to persuade him.

"Just let me show you how we did it for Sheraton," Stiles pressed. "It's only a few minutes' walk."

"So now I have to take inspiration from our competition?"

"Smart people do."

Derek narrowed his eyes at him, and Stiles realized that he yet again crossed the professional boundary. But what could he do? Derek just brought out the sass in him.

"Alright, genius. Lead the way."

Well. Apparently, it worked.

As they passed the lobby they overheard a customer bitching about the lack of parking spaces to the receptionist. Stiles felt like somebody up there must have been rooting for him to organize such a well-timed complaint. He nearly fist-pumped the air.

"Point taken," Derek acknowledged gruffly.

Stiles tried not to appear too smug, though he probably failed.

***

The clever parking design of the Sheraton was not the only feature that the new Nemeton hotel could get inspired by and Stiles kept pointing out to several other things that could be added to the layout at this stage. He felt pretty confident, especially since Derek didn't look as opposed to the idea anymore, so he went for the kill.

"This cost actually way more at the time, which won't be your case," Stiles gushed enthusiastically. "For a mere half a million you will increase your coverage to 35%. Given the struggle to find a parking spot in the area, this will be a dealbreaker. Return on investment? Two years top. And I haven't even-"

"Alright, alright. Sold!" Derek raised his palms in surrender. "Jesus, Stiles. I don't know what they're paying you, but you should ask for a raise. With your incessant prattle, you make people spend money they don't have on things they don't want."

A compliment wrapped in a complaint. Stiles's ego was doing a little victory dance, but he made an effort not to let it show. Because he was _professional_ like that. "What, are you telling me the Nemeton chain can't afford an extra half a million?" After all, by Manhattan standards, this was chump change.

"I'm telling you that this hotel has a budget that does not account for extra parking." It was clear that Derek most certainly didn't expect that Stiles would manage to persuade him.

"Well, getting your superiors' approval is your job. My work here is done." He did an imaginary mic drop for dramatism. (Ok he might have been rubbing it in, after all) Derek didn't seem to appreciate the gesture.

Lydia called as the two were walking back to Nemeton, saying that she was waiting for Stiles at the nearby Starbucks. Derek obviously overheard it and Stiles felt his blood pressure rise when the Dom entered the coffeehouse behind him.

"Why are you following me?"

"I'm not following _you_. I just want a coffee."

_Yeah, right._

Derek squeezed himself in front of Stiles and then proceeded to purposely stall the order, asking about various options, as if it was his first time in Starbucks. Of course, there were no other people waiting, except for Stiles, so Derek felt comfortable with changing his choice several times and then adding a stupid amount of vanilla syrup, marshmallows, and whatnot. All in all, a far cry from "strong, black, no sugar" he had at Stiles' place.

The barista girl was dutifully patient. "And the name, sir?" she asked.

"Mieczyslaw."

Stiles glared at him, while the lady looked lost. "Uhm, could you spell it for me, please?"

_Ha! Go on, genius._

But Derek was not flustered. "Just write Mr. M."

Stiles ordered himself a simple Latte and spelled his name for the girl to write, cause no one ever got it correctly on their own.

"Together?" she asked, assuming they were a couple.

"Yes," Derek nodded.

"No! Derek, I'll pay for…"

"Of course you will." Derek stepped aside and Stiles saw the trap. Obviously, Derek never planned to pay for it, to begin with, he came all the way and ordered this overly sweet monstrosity just to annoy Stiles.

"This is bullying." Stiles groused, taking out his wallet. It was easier to pay than to make a scene.

Derek patted him on a shoulder. "You have just talked me into half a million for extra parking spaces. I need my self-esteem back."

As if that was ever lacking.

"You need a therapist," Stiles deadpanned. "And what are you gonna do with _this_ anyway?"

Derek cast him a smug look and then swaggered directly to Lydia's table, handing her the cup with a toothy grin and a charming, "Ma'am."

That smooth motherfucker!

"Derek," he introduced himself, offering a hand to Lydia, who couldn't be furthest from her _Ma'am_ persona right now, blushing like a schoolgirl.

"Oh. Lydia. Nice to meet you," she smiled shyly, "Stiles told me about uhm… I wanted to thank you."

"Of course," Derek said, hovering at the table much to Stiles' annoyance. "I liked your flogger." He didn't bother keeping his voice down, as if he was commenting on the weather and not on a BDSM implement. No one was listening, but Stiles' stomach did a flip flop and he cast him an unamused glare.

Lydia couldn't care less about the public setting, her eyes flaring with excitement at the mention of her 'new baby'. "Oh, it's from Dante's leather shop, flat braided bull leather with leaf ends. I think it gives the perfect combination of sting and thud and Dante's are notorious for top-notch handiwork. "

"Oh yes," Derek agreed, "It sure made an impression on Stiles."

 _Stiles,_ who went 50 shades of red, was seriously considering just leaving the two to chat and save himself some shreds of dignity, while Lydia, completely oblivious to his discomfort, preened like a peacock.

"Your technique was also quite admirable," Derek continued buttering her up. "Obviously you have plenty of experience with floggers."

"I like leather implements in general."

Stiles didn't know who to glare at anymore. He hated them both.

"That being said," Derek continued, his tone and expression changing on cue. "If I ever see you leave a play partner in bondage as you go on about your business, I'll make sure you get on the blacklist of every kink club in New York."

Stiles almost spluttered his coffee at the sudden change of the mood. Derek was indeed a true sadist, coddling his prey into a false sense of security and then landing a sharp blow. Given his severe expression, there was no doubt that telling her off was his endgame all along. Hell, he probably followed Stiles to Starbucks just to give her a piece of his mind. Messing with Stiles along the way was probably just a pleasant bonus.

"There is no excuse for it," Derek went on, "It was thoughtless and irresponsible and as someone who is not a novice, you should definitely know better."

Lydia didn't argue, blushing furiously at the impromptu scolding. Stiles would normally stand up for her, except deep down he kinda agreed with Derek.

"And while the fault for what happened to Stiles is mostly with the shitty Dungeon Monitors, _you-_ " he pointed a finger at her "- should have been _there_ to deal with the aftermath. And you weren't."

Stiles would probably argue about extenuating circumstances in this case. However, leaving without a word was kinda crappy on her part. Even though he was sure that at the time, Kira must have reassured her that she would untie him and told her to just go.

"You have a nice day," Derek said without a trace of a smile and then turned to Stiles. "Make a contract addendum for the extra parking."

Stiles almost blurted a "yessir" - an automated response when given a stern command - but thankfully stopped himself just in time. _Should have said 'Woof'_ , he thought, irritated that Derek took that tone with him and that he relapsed into sub-mode instead of standing his ground. And now was too late, because the Dom was already gone.

"Told you he is a dick," he grumbled, shaking his head.

"Yeah… that was... _so hot."_

"What?!" Stiles stared at the girl in disbelief.

Lydia fanned herself with her hands, exhaling slowly. " _That guy_ can come and scold me anytime," she declared, fetching a small pocket mirror from her handbag and checking her makeup. "The butterflies in my stomach… just whoa, so good."

That was just like Lydia to get turned on and bypass whatever was actually said to her.

"Seriously?"

Lydia gave him a placating smile. "He is right of course. That's why I'm here treating you to lunch."

 _More like I'm treating you to the coffee Derek bullied out of me,_ Stiles thought sarcastically.

"But it was still _so_ _hot_. The guy is pure sex on legs when he gets all stern."

Stiles marveled at the ease with which she overcame an uncomfortable and quite unpleasant situation. He was pretty sure that _he_ wouldn't want to get a public lambasting in front of witnesses for something real (and not some made-up transgression) while Lydia treated it as if it all was just a kinky scene. Well, truth be told, it _did_ play right into her humiliation and exhibitionism kinks. So it wasn't _that_ unexpected.

* * *

xxx

On Friday just as Stiles was about to leave for the weekend he got a phone call from an unknown number.

"Stiles?" he heard Derek's voice, "Hi. The addendum is fine, bring it over for signing."

Stiles almost agreed, before frowning at the directive. "Ok, I'll send it with a courier."

"No," Derek said firmly, "bring it in person, we need to talk."

"We are talking right now."

"I just gave you an extra half a million to play with and you are still giving me attitude?" Despite the reproachful wording, Derek sounded amused.

Stiles, however, was not amused. For all his continuous effort to put some professional boundaries to their relationship, Derek kept bossing him around as if Stiles was his submissive or at least his employee. "Look, I'm not your callboy, ok? I'll send the documents with courier and you can tell me whatever there is work related right now." He was definitely being rude, but it was Friday evening and he doubted Derek had a legitimate reason for demanding his presence.

"You keep forgetting who is the client in this relationship. You should be wining and dining me."

"I already bought you coffee."

"Funny," Derek deadpanned, "In such cases, I'd normally expect dinner and a bottle of expensive whiskey."

Derek was not wrong. Stiles has attended several of those dinners with Michael. Their relationship with Derek was so irregular, he kinda forgot about social conventions. He should have asked for a company card for these purposes, but now everyone already left for the weekend. He will have to file a request first thing on Monday.

"Fine. I'm on my way," he grumbled admitting defeat.

"Good boy."

***

Derek was slumped on the armchair reading some documents when Stiles let himself into his office. He demonstratively dropped the file with the addendum on Derek's desk and then flopped on the sofa with a sullen expression.

"How's your ass?" Derek asked with a smirk.

"That's why you forced me in here? To talk about my ass?"

Derek chuckled. "More or less. Scotch?" he offered, pointing at the decanter on the table.

"I'm driving."

"Coffee then?"

Stiles might have kept the sulking teenager act if there wasn't a very real danger that Derek would call him out on it and then proceed to make fun of him. Summoning his adult self he forced a polite smile on his face and nodded. And he was happy he did because watching Derek with a coffee machine was like watching a toddler tying his shoelaces for the first time.

"Erica always does it for me," the Dom shrugged, for once losing his cocksure demeanor.

Stiles let him struggle for a minute before taking pity on him and showing him how it worked and essentially making the coffee himself.

"So, are you going to Brooklyn-9?"

Stiles was not surprised by that question. He contemplated protesting the topic and demanding they talk about business but in the end, decided that he was technically off the clock and indulging Derek might be easier than putting up a fuss.

"No."

"Good."

Ok, _that_ reaction he didn't expect.

"The security protocol is severely lacking," Derek stated with a serious expression. "And the monitoring is shit given the club is open to the public. I mean, you obviously just got unlucky to fall victim to a random douchebag but I would still not recommend playing there."

Stiles opened his mouth to say that it wasn't random and that he was specifically targeted, but then changed his mind. He was old enough to decide for himself where to play and where not to play, he didn't need Derek's unsolicited advice.

"Is this going somewhere, or are you giving me a lecture on BDSM safety? Cause I believe I already told you, I'm not a newbie anymore."

"Have you heard of The Red Zone?"

Of course, Stiles heard of The Red Zone. The elitist private club that people gushed about on Fetlife. He also heard that it was completely out of his pay grade. "Are you a member?" he asked carefully, even though he already guessed the direction of this conversation.

"Yes. With an option to bring +1 for free. I want you to come with me tomorrow."

Well, Derek didn't beat around the bush. And truth be told, the offer was too tempting to resist. But at the same time, it was pretty unambiguous why Derek made the offer.

"I'm not playing with you, Derek," Stiles said firmly. He would love to visit TRZ - as people called it. But he was not gonna jeopardize his career for it.

"Of course, I assume you are still sore. I think you will enjoy it regardless."

"No. I mean I'm not playing with _you_ ," Stiles stressed, opting for honesty, even if it resulted in never seeing the inside of that club.

That gave Derek a pause. "Why not?"

"You are my client."

"So?"

Stiles thought it was pretty self-explanatory. If Derek didn't see a problem with it, that was his prerogative. Not like _his_ job was hanging in balance.

"And we are no match."

Derek just raised an eyebrow at him.

"I may have lied on my questionnaire, but you didn't. And I have practically memorized it back and forth." Stiles refused to feel embarrassed about it. He already admitted he used to have a crush on him. "I know what I want _now_ and it's not what you want."

Derek waved his hand in dismissal. "I checked your FetLife profile. We are fine."

"Derek…"

"You are not the only one who figured shit out in those 5 years."

"You weren't a newbie," Stiles pointed out.

"No, I was an ass," Derek said, surprising him. "I could tell you were scared and freaked out from the moment you entered the room. I could have talked to you and put you at ease, do something light that you would have actually enjoyed. Instead, I got pissed that you lied and decided to teach you a lesson by following through, expecting you to crack and safeword out. You didn't cave, so I had to. And then I got you banned from the club because of that unfulfilled need to teach you a lesson."

The sincerity took Stiles off guard. He never expected Derek to actually regret his actions, much less to admit his fault.

"And now you want to play with me because you still have that need?"

Derek chuckled. "Yes. But it's not the only reason. You also cry prettily."

Stiles rolled his eyes. " _Great_."

"Look I'm trying to apologize here. I don't want there to be any hard feelings between us."

Stiles thought that he might have misjudged Derek after all. Apparently, the Dom wasn't just jerking him around for his own amusement. If he went as far as to apologize for something that was clearly past the statute of limitations, then he was serious about wanting to scene with Stiles.

"Alright," Stiles offered his hand for a reconciliatory handshake, "I'm sorry as well."

Derek took his hand with a smile.

"I'm still not playing with you," Stiles repeated, firmly. Burying the hatchet was one thing, but subbing for Derek was still unwise. "I know how to separate personal and professional, but right now my work takes priority. You are my client, but it doesn't mean that everything will go your way. I need to be able to argue with you without imagining you standing with a whip behind my back."

Derek didn't seem discouraged by Stiles' rejection whatsoever. "I thought you don't like whips," he quipped, his cocky smile back in place.

"NOT the point, Derek."

"I give it a month before you change your mind."

"And then what? I'll quit my job for the _glorious_ opportunity to sub for you?" Stiles dialed up the sarcasm to match the Dom's boastful attitude.

"No," Derek smirked, "You'll fall in love with me."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That cocky little shit, huh?;))


	4. The Red Zone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of worldbuilding in this one. I hope it's not too boring=)

Stiles checked his phone and noted that he was fashionably late. Well, if it was possible to be late when there was no time specifically set. He said he will come around 8 and it was 8:15. He wondered if Derek will mention the remedy for tardiness again. And why was he hoping that he will? Why was Stiles thinking about it at all, when he made it clear that there will be no scening between them?

Maybe because _thinking_ was safe, and he was allowed to have fantasies?

Derek offered to pick him up but Stiles refused, feeling like it would resemble a date a bit too much and he was all about maintaining boundaries, so they decided to meet there. He was instructed to ask for Derek Hale at the reception because phones were prohibited inside. And given that the elevator took him all the way to the -3rd floor, there was likely to be no signal anyway. A dungeon indeed.

The lobby area was quite unimpressive. Stiles wasn't sure what he was expecting but a simple room with a couch and a receptionist desk was not it. There was nothing that would even remotely hint at the activities behind the closed doors. The club was not advertised in any sense on the ground level either. Long story short, if you didn't know where to go, you would never find it. And if he was to be chopped to pieces in a ritualistic sacrifice, no one would ever know.

_Yeah right. Calm your tits, Stilinski._

"Hello, may I help you?" the receptionist lady asked him amicably.

"Yes, I'm the.. uhm, +1 for Derek Hale?" It was probably the nerves that made him phrase it as a question. And he was not 100% sure he was at the right place either.

Her fingers clattered on the keyboard and then she nodded. "Stiles Stilinski?"

"Yes."

"I've sent for Mr. Hale to come up and identify you, though I will still need to see your ID. In the meantime, please read and sign these." She handed him a stack of papers which Stiles correctly identified as the club's rules and the liability disclaimer.

Most of the BDSM clubs used the same template, and the rules rarely varied much. These seemed pretty standard except for a very firmly worded non-disclosure clause regarding the members. Stiles wondered if he was going to see any celebrities inside. With the prestige and supposedly astronomical prices of the club, it was a real possibility.

Stiles signed all the necessary papers and handed them back to the receptionist. She filed them away, did some more typing, and then fetched a white smartwatch from the drawer. It was the first sign of the price tag attached to the club because Stiles was pretty sure that the watch was for him, probably serving as an identification. Whereas other clubs used wristbands or badges, TRZ had fancy smartwatches with bigass displays. Cool.

Just as the receptionist was scanning the watch, the door behind her opened and Derek came inside. And wow, he looked... ravishing. A tight black faux leather tank top revealed all those perfectly sculpt muscles Stiles might or might not have dreamed about a few times. A matching matt leather pants hugged his hips to perfection, with a signature whip attached to the belt - ala dark BDSM version of Indiana Jones. Yes, _this_ was Derek that Stiles remembered. To the point of near pavlovian reflex.

"There's something on your chin," Derek said, squinting his eyes. "Oh wait, it's a drool."

Ok, he probably caught Stiles staring, but still, there was 'lack of discretion' and then there was Derek's over-the-top narcissism. Stiles rolled his eyes in exasperation. "You know there is a level of arrogance that stops being even a little bit appealing and you loooong since crossed it."

"Uh-huh," Derek nodded absentmindedly. "Let me just get you a tissue." He grabbed one from the desk and attempted to wipe Stiles's chin, the smug grin bursting through his otherwise serious expression.

"Yes, you are _attractive_ ," Stiles snapped, slapping his hand away. "Can we finally move past that?"

" _You_ said I wasn't that enticing."

"And you are trying to prove me wrong?"

"I already did," Derek scoffed, then turned to the receptionist. "Is it on me?" The woman nodded as he took the watch and handed it to Stiles.

Stiles wasn't sure what exactly could Derek mean by the watch being "on him" but he disliked it on principle. He noted that the Dom was wearing one as well, except silver in color. Or was it platinum? Fuming silently, he put the watch on his right wrist and cast Derek an unamused expectant look.

Derek wrapped his hand around his shoulders and led him towards the door, chuckling softly in his ear, "Alright, stop sulking, you look pretty good yourself."

A blush crept onto his cheeks and Stiles realized that he much preferred Derek gushing about himself than complimenting him. Cause he wasn't sure how to act about the latter. He wasn't wearing anything special, just a nice pair of jeans that showed off his ass and a light blue polo shirt - a very vanilla outfit compared to Derek's. He couldn't come up with any smart comeback though so he just kept quiet.

The next room was a security check. They both passed the metal detector and Stiles had to put away his phone in a locker box.

"Everything you might need is there," Derek said pointing at Stiles' wrist. "It's pretty intuitive really."

The first thing that appeared was a small user profile, where Stiles chose his gender, his dynamic, age, his preferences, and whether he was looking to play tonight. Stiles chose the option "maybe later" and skipped the introduction questionnaire. The watch lit up with a non-intrusive blue hue.

"Neat."

"Purple for Dominants," Derek raised his own wrist, "yellow for switches, white for 'unsure'. The red color is reserved for stopping the play."

"Hm," Stiles decided to test it right away. The club used the color system because (as stated in the rules) they were not interested in reinventing the wheel and Stiles was fine with that. He raised his wrist to his mouth and said, "Red." The watch started blinking with red color, giving subtle vibrations. "Cool. Green." And it went back to blue.

"Told you, pretty intuitive," Derek nodded. "Though I'd advise turning off the voice commands because they are mostly useless and in public it just gets messy. It will still alert you if your vitals like pulse, blood pressure, or oxygen saturation get close to dangerous levels."

Stiles immediately checked his health stats. He could see how those things could come in handy for the more edgy type of play (e.g. breathplay). "So _this_ is what you meant when you said I should get a watch?"

Derek didn't reply, but his smile was just as telling.

***

The entrance had a scanner on the right-hand side and Derek scanned his watch to open the door. "You will see these scanners everywhere you go. You can access any area using your watch. If something doesn't open, it means that you don't have access."

"Uhm, ok, so where _can_ I go?"

Derek cast him another smug grin. "As _my_ guest - anywhere."

They entered the main hall and Stiles exhaled in appreciation of the futuristic design of the club. The dim neon lights, modern leather furniture coupled with metallic constructions, and dark wood gave it a bit of a cyberpunk vibe. The club was spacious, bigger than any other kink club Stiles had been to, and despite being underground it had surprisingly high ceilings. If it wasn't for the play area filled with torture devices it would look like a typical posh nightclub in the heart of Manhattan.

There were already plenty of people, though most were sitting (some were kneeling) and chatting at the tables and only one couple could be seen settling next to the spanking bench for a scene. "Not many people playing," Stiles noted.

"Too early," Derek said. "Also, most have rooms booked for it. These two I believe are professionals."

"Professionals?"

"Professional Dominants and submissives to play with people or perform on stage to keep the action going."

"Cool."

Derek navigated them towards the bar, pointing towards private rooms and bathrooms on the way. "What are you having?" he asked, settling on the barstool and nodding at the bartender girl.

"Beer," Stiles told her, planting himself next to Derek. He noticed that the countertop had a couple of built-in touchpads and went on to explore it while Derek ordered himself a glass of whiskey, scanned his watch, and paid for it. The touchpad offered a variety of functions like sending messages to other tables (yes, apparently all the tables had these… and how cool was that?), playing games like battleship, tic tac toe, speed chess, and a variety of quick card games with other tables (with an option for setting up the punishment for the loser), a lot of information about the club - the rules, the upcoming events, the variety of playrooms catering to every scenario out there such as the classroom, the doctor's office, the stable, the nursery, etc. Stiles couldn't wait to see those.

"Many people spend their first visit with their noses buried in these."

Stiles raised his eyes, realizing he had been browsing the countertop tablet for a couple minutes, completely ignoring Derek. He gave him a sheepish shrug and reached for his beer. "I have never seen anything like this."

"It's quite handy. These screens are pretty much everywhere. You can check the booking schedule for the rooms as well as watch the live feed of those that allow it."

"Live feed?" Stiles asked bewildered.

Derek got this devilish smile on his lips and reached over to show him, but was interrupted by somebody calling him.

"Master!"

Stiles turned around to see a tall fit guy around his age standing behind them and smiling shyly at Derek. He looked familiar, but Stiles couldn't quite place where he had seen him before. He glanced at Derek expecting him to make some kind of introduction and was taken aback by the severe expression that took over the Dom's face.

"Where did I tell you to meet me, Jeremy?" Derek asked, his voice quiet and stern.

Stiles felt the familiar tickling in his abdomen, while Jeremy immediately dropped his gaze in submission.

"I'm sorry, Master, I thought-"

"You thought that just because you won last night you could ignore my instructions?"

"No, Master."

Stiles experienced a strong sense of déjà vu. This was exactly how he remembered Derek to act around his subs. Cold, overly strict, and quick to reprimand and punish. Stiles's first instinct was to tell him to lighten up for god's sake, but frankly, he didn't have the balls to call attention to himself, when Derek was like this.

"And here I thought, I might go easy on you tonight because you did such a good job yesterday, but apparently you need another harsh reminder of the rules, don't you?"

"I'm sorry, Master."

" _Don't_ you?" Derek stressed, making the sub fidget uneasily.

"Yes, Master, I do," came the breathless reply. If Stiles didn't see the subtle smile that grazed his lips, he would think that Jeremy was in fact scared. Now it was obvious that if anything he was excited. Stiles also finally realized where he had seen the guy and for a second he felt very much breathless himself.

"Go," Derek ordered dismissively, turning back to his whiskey. "I'll be there to deal with you shortly."

Jeremy didn't have to be told twice and hurried towards the private rooms while Stiles stared at Derek in disbelief.

"What the… was that Jeremy Leeds just now? The MMA fighter?" he exclaimed in a harsh whisper. "Dude! That guy could eat you for breakfast!"

Derek cast him a smug look, finishing his whisky in one gulp. "Yup. But instead, he is gonna get his ass whipped to the bone. Jeremy is one of the biggest painsluts I know and he always comes here to unwind after the fight."

"Just make sure he doesn't accidentally break your neck instead of safewording."

Derek let out an amused chuckle, his 'harsh Master' persona from a minute ago long forgotten. "Don't worry, not my first rodeo," he said with a wink. "Room thirteen. Jeremy doesn't mind being watched. And neither do I."

Okay, so the two played together before. That's not something to get upset about. After all, he expected Derek to scene tonight and not just babysit him the whole time.

When Derek left, Stiles dived back to the countertop tablet to search for information on Room 13. It was a generic room with a bed, a couch, and a spanking bench, not designed to cater to any particular type of play, though Derek already hinted that he will be using the whip. Stiles always found whips to be too hardcore for his liking, but that didn't mean he didn't want to see Derek wielding one.

The option for the live feed became available and Stiles saw Jeremy kneeling naked in the middle of the room with his hands crossed behind his back and his head tilted downwards - a perfect submissive posture Stiles had both seen and experienced himself many times. There were 5 different camera angles available as well as the default viewing option. When the camera started zooming in on Jeremy's foot fidgeting, Stiles realized that there was an actual person switching the camera angles.

"Wow, who is doing that?" he muttered surprised.

"The Dungeon Monitor," the bartender girl replied, but when Stiles lifted his head to look at her, she was polishing the glasses, not looking at the tablet.

"Does _every_ room have a DM?"

"Sometimes more than one," she nodded. "Depending on the type of play. The more edgy, the more people will be there making sure nothing goes wrong. Imagine a senator dying because breathplay went wrong. I mean some people might thank us, but the fallout would be the death of this club."

"What if people want privacy?"

"Then _you_ won't be able to watch it. The DMs will always supervise regardless." She went to tend to another customer and Stiles returned his focus to Room 13.

Derek was already there, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest and an unamused expression on his face. Another déjà vu for Stiles. This was exactly how he met the Dom back then and he vividly remembered just how much Derek's cold demeanor unnerved him. Now even though it was clear that Derek wasn't _actually_ angry, he sure made it appear so and Stiles wouldn't want to be in Jeremy's shoes right now. (which was a total lie by the way)

"Would you like another?" The bartender was back, pointing at his empty beer bottle.

"I uhm… do you have a price list or something?" Stiles was pretty sure he could afford a beer, but he still preferred to know just how much he was gonna be overpaying it.

The girl shrugged. "We don't have one. Members don't really care about these things. But you don't have to worry, the drinks are pretty average in prices."

"Uh, ok, I'll have another one then."

She handed him another beer and a scanner. "Put your wrist here."

Stiles did and then took out his wallet. "So how much do I pay?"

She smiled at him. "You just did."

Well… _shit_. Now he understood what Derek meant by the watch being 'on him' and he wasn't sure how he felt about Derek being his Sugar Daddy for the night. "Can I pay in cash?"

"No, that's just for the tips."

Holy shit, that was a hundred dollar bill that Derek gave her. The fuck was that a tip!? _Average prices my ass! And just how many zeros does Derek's paycheck have?_

His shock must have been all over his face because the girl laughed. "Don't worry, Derek covered you for a few rounds. The tips are good here, but I don't expect a hundred bucks for every time I use a bottle opener." She patted his shoulder, her eyes still dancing with amusement. "What's your name?"

"Stiles."

"I'm Malia."

Stiles shook her offered hand and then scratched his head with a grimace. "So every time I use this watch, they will cash Derek?"

"I wouldn't worry about it. If his membership allows to invite people over, then he can certainly afford it."

"That expensive, huh?"

She shook her head. "You don't wanna know."

"I guess I don't."

Of course, it had to be expensive to feed all those dungeon monitors and professionals and electronics. Stiles sighed, his focus returning to the scene on the tablet. Derek was already in full action and judging by the state of Jeremy's ass, Derek was not sparing him anything.

"He is pretty good at it, huh?" Malia noted as the camera focused on Derek.

"Yeah," Stiles couldn't help but agree. Derek was so methodical and precise, landing lash after lash in a perfect rhythm, painting Jeremy's body with red stripes. Stiles didn't have to hear it to know just how much it had to hurt, but Jeremy seemed to be taking it like a champ. Stiles would never be able to take a beating like this. Nor did he ever have a desire to try. It might have been hot to watch, but Stiles knew his limits pretty well by now. It was almost reassuring to see the evidence that he was right all along and that he and Derek were no match. At least he could stop obsessing over what it would be like to scene with him again.

"Have you ever played with him?" he asked Malia. It was safe to assume that whoever worked in the club was no stranger to kink.

"No. I'm not really into impact play. I'm a rigger slash rope bunny," she said, showing him a tattoo on her wrist of a small cute rabbit tangled in a rope. It was one of those subtle things that spoke to people who ' _knew'_ and was entirely innocent looking for those who didn't. "Hey Jackson, what's it gonna be tonight?" She turned to a handsome guy approaching the bar.

"Tom Collins." The dude was chewing on his bottom lip and looked rather fidgety. Malia gave him a skeptical look and handed him the scanner instead of going to mix the cocktail.

"What, you don't trust me?" Jackson asked sulkily, scanning his wrist.

"Nope. Not after last time." She watched the device give a beep of protest and shook her head at him. "And good thing I didn't, cause I'd have waisted another Tom Collins on you. You are not authorized, babe."

"Oh come on, Malia. On the house?" He sounded whiny. Stiles didn't like whiny.

"I'll give you coke on the house, how's that?" she offered placatingly.

"Sad," Jackson grumbled and then gave Stiles a once-over. "What about you? You look like someone who would treat a fellow sub to a drink."

Stiles chuckled awkwardly, not at all used to being on the receiving end of this type of brash pushiness. "Sorry dude but for all I know, you could be a recovering alcoholic in a moment of weakness. I don't want to have you on my conscience."

Malia handed him a glass of coke which was obviously not something Jackson wanted. He glared at the drink pushing it away and sliding off the barstool. "Thanks for nothing," he snapped at them both and stalked away.

"Don't mind him," Malia said, putting a straw in the coke and taking a sip. "He is just pissy because his Dom is out of town."

"What did you mean by him not being authorized? Is he not 21 yet?"

"No, he is old enough. But his watch has a temporary restriction on alcohol, which was probably put there by Danny - his Dom. Jackson has a penchant for trouble when left to his own devices."

"Oh," Stiles said simply. He couldn't relate, but he understood. There were subs who liked to be dominated, and then there were subs who absolutely _needed_ to have someone in charge to function. Without constant supervision, they started acting out and spiraling out of control just to be put back together by their Dom. This level of neediness was something that Stiles firmly distanced himself from. He was proud to always have his shit together. He didn't need a Dominant to fix his life for him and set him on the right path. He was doing just fine on his own and if he let somebody take charge it was within narrow pre-established limits. That being said, the appeal of letting go and just having somebody take care of him was so damn big... it made his contempt look like jealousy in disguise.

The action in Room 13 progressed into aftercare and Stiles turned it off. He didn't want to watch Derek comfort another sub. He just didn't. Instead, he took his beer and went to settle on the couch close to the play area to watch a few ongoing scenes.

There was a middle-aged couple with a man doing a somewhat clumsy job of a basic shibari tie. He was peeking at the printed pictures of the manual, retying and fixing his knots several times while his sub seemed to be having a great time teasing him. The easy banter and constant giggles suggested just how comfortable the two were with each other. They were both completely clothed and yet Stiles felt like he was invading in a heartwarming intimate moment just by looking their way. He imagined himself in 30 years, out of shape, with wrinkles and balding hair and a dotting Dom loving every curve of him anyway, treating him the same as if he was in his 20s and punishing him for even a hint of self-deprecating humor.

Fuck. He was getting sentimental and the BDSM dungeon was not the right place for romantic wishful daydreaming. Stiles turned around and focused his attention on the professional pair where the Domme was working her naked tied sub with a riding crop. They were both fit and pleasant to look at, but compared to the older couple it felt insincere and mechanical, if not just plain boring. Stiles wondered if his own scenes looked the same way to others - with minimal emotional investment and play-partners that stuck around for one scene, often never to be seen again.

"Having fun?" Derek asked, flopping on the armchair next to him with a bottle of water. He looked a bit sweaty, like after a workout (which administering a whipping totally was), but clearly pumped and in a good mood.

Stiles gave him a tight smile, quickly pushing all his depressing thoughts to the back of his mind. "I see Jeremy left you unharmed, congratulations."

"I tied him up."

"No, you didn't."

"So you _were_ watching," Derek said smugly.

Stiles wasn't really embarrassed about it. Derek practically told him to. "A bit," he admitted, returning his focus to the play area.

"So how do you like it here?"

"It's really cool. Nothing like the other clubs I've been to. Thanks for taking me." Stiles wanted to show appreciation so now was probably not the time to bitch about money and how Derek casually forgot to tell him that everything Stiles did would be on his dime. There was only so much one cup of coffee could cover and Stiles already guessed that there will have to be more than one client dinner to make up for today.

"Feel like playing tonight?"

"I don't know. I... don't really know anyone here." Stiles half expected Derek to point out that there was somebody he _did_ know right there in front of him, but he didn't.

"Have you had a chance to look around?" he asked instead.

"Not yet, I was just hanging out with Malia at the bar and then…" he trailed off when out of nowhere a dark-haired woman climbed onto Derek's lap and placed herself butt up over his knees. Well, "woman" was a strong word - she was petite and young, wearing skimpy shorts that looked more like panties and a tight top that looked more like a bra. Her hands were covered in furry mittens and her legs with a matching pair of knee-length leg warmers. The fluffy tail bursting out of her shorts suggested that it was not attached to them but rather worn in a more conventional BDSM way (aka buttplug), and a pair of cat ears completed her look.

She was gorgeous. And daring. And clearly all too familiar with Derek.

"Now, now, what is this?" Derek asked, his face fighting a smile as he repositioned the catgirl to sit on his lap. "We have been over this, kitten."

"I guess you'll have to punish me, Daddy," the girl cooed unabashedly. Stiles choked on his beer. He never thought he would meet anyone bold enough to call Derek _that_ to his face.

Derek glanced at Stiles and then shook his head. "Not now, kitten, run along," he said, gently setting her aside.

"Oh please, don't stop on my account." Stiles was in a bit of a daze. He couldn't believe what he was seeing.

"See, Daddy, he wants to _watch_ ," the catgirl pressed. She had such a high pitched voice, she sounded like an anime character. Stiles couldn't decide if this was age play or pet play or some weird mix of both.

Derek glanced at Stiles again as if looking for confirmation that he was ok with it, and then turned back to the girl. "And is it up to you, little one?" he asked her, his tone laced with mock sternness as he tilted her chin up to look at him. "Or up to Stiles?"

"No, Daddy."

"What have I told you about topping from the bottom?"

"Not to do it." She bit her lip, fluttering her eyelashes at Derek.

"I guess you need a smacked bottom to help you remember."

"Nooo," she whined, even though the way she climbed back over his lap couldn't be described as anything but eager.

Stiles watched Derek suppress a smile. There was no doubt that it was exactly what the girl wanted all along. The "old Derek" would never indulge a sub this way. If he punished, it wasn't anything to be enjoyed. Not to mention that words like "Daddy" or "smacked bottom" were never a part of his vocabulary. And yet Derek didn't look fazed or uncomfortable at all. He acted with the same level of easy confidence as he did with Jeremy.

After a few dozen token swats, accompanied by bloated whining, Derek righted the catgirl back up and petted her briefly, before sending her off with another gentle pop and instruction to "behave".

The silence fell between them, as Derek casually sipped on his water while Stiles tried to process what he had just witnessed.

"Alright," Derek finally spoke. "It's all over your face. Spit it out."

"I feel like I just watched James McAvoy from that M. Night Shyamalan movie. You know, the one where he had 24 different personalities."

"Are you saying I'm not right in the head?"

"No, that would be _rude_ ," Stiles sneered. "It's just that it was…" he struggled to come up with a proper inoffensive word, "Different. _Very_ different."

"I branched out."

"Huh. That's putting it mildly. So you are a _Daddy_ now?" An hour ago such a thought would have been absurd. Now watching how different and easygoing he was with her while throwing every single rule he used to stand by out the window, Stiles didn't know what to think anymore.

Derek shrugged in response. "It's what she likes."

"And since when does it matter?"

Derek frowned. "It always matters."

"It never did before."

"Five years is a long time."

That was true. Stiles certainly changed since then. He just didn't expect that Derek did too. Especially after watching him with Jeremy which went exactly the same way as Derek's scenes in California.

"I used to have this idea of a Dominant," Derek said when the silence started to drag out. "And I stuck to it and was perfectly happy. It was very self-centered - after all, the submissive's pleasure should come from my own, right? And it did for many. But then I took a liking to a sub that didn't fall under that umbrella and got the biggest wake-up call when she refused to scene with me because of it. We did, in the end, on her terms. And I actually ended up liking it," he chuckled, running a hand through his hair with a sheepish expression like he still couldn't believe it happened. "In fact, I liked it a lot. That's when I realized that _my_ pleasure could come from the satisfaction of my play partner and I started catering the scenes more towards the specifics of the subs I played with. I mean, I still have limits and general preferences, but I'm way more flexible when it comes to titles, implements, the mood of the scene…"

"Back talking," Stiles muttered, filling in the gap for himself and not realizing that Derek could hear him till he heard him chuckle.

"I thought you said, you didn't wanna play with me."

"I don't," Stiles confirmed, not falling for the 'gotcha' comment. "I was just making an observation."

"Yes," Derek nodded. "Just like many other things, bratting and back talking are not taboo with me anymore." He titled his head giving Stiles a suggestive look. "But they lead to consequences."

 _Good to know._ Stiles almost said it out loud too, before catching himself just in time. So what if they were not all that incompatible? Not like Derek was the only Dom in New York.

He was pulled out of his mulling by a loud crashing sound coming from the bar and Jackson cussing up a storm.

"I see he is still in the mood," Stiles noted sarcastically.

Derek frowned. "Still?"

"Yeah, he tried to get me to buy him a drink since his watch had some kind of restriction on alcohol or whatever. And he was a real charmer when I refused."

Derek's frown deepened. "I'll be right back," he said, suddenly getting up. Stiles half expected him to go to the bar but Derek made for the exit instead.

Stiles watched Malia clean up the shattered glass while Jackson paced around grumbling. He wondered if the security was gonna come to throw Jackson out or if this type of temper tantrum was allowed. He didn't see any bouncers coming over though, so the jerk was probably gonna get away with it. Malia could probably use some help with the mess, but when Stiles got up Jackson was already kneeling beside her wiping the floor. Well, at least he wasn't a complete douchebag.

Jackson caught Stiles watching him and asked Malia something nodding in his direction. Stiles turned away, not really caring what the two were talking about, but a minute later Jackson was joining him at the table.

Stiles gave him a discouraging glance, clearly hinting that he wasn't looking for company, but Jackson pretended not to see it.

"So you are here with Derek, huh?" he asked nonchalantly.

"He invited me, yes." Stiles didn't feel the need to explain the nature of his and Derek's relationship to this guy.

"Have you played in other clubs?"

"I usually go to Brooklyn-9."

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, I heard about it but never been there. Is it nice?"

"Well, certainly not as fancy as this one," Stiles chuckled. He hasn't even played yet and he already could tell that the experience was gonna be very different. He doubted anyone who had the access to all the amenities of such a club would ever want to go to a regular one again.

That's when he saw Derek coming back, eyeing them both with a smug smirk on his face. "Hi, Jackson. Stiles told me you have been trying to pry a drink out of him so I called Danny and snitched on you."

Stiles stared at him bewildered at how casually Derek made a rat out of him, which was further confirmed when Jackson glared at him and grumbled, "Thanks a ton." As if it was Stiles who just snitched on him, not Derek. As if there was some kind of "subs versus Doms" thing going on and he just broke the bro-code and committed an ultimate treason.

The notion was so absurd, Stiles wasn't sure how he was supposed to defend himself, so he just blinked and stammered, "I.. w-what?"

"And guess what?" Derek snapped fingers in front of Jackson's face to get his attention back. "Danny thinks you could use a taste of what's coming your way on Tuesday when he comes back."

Stiles watched Jackson take a sharp breath and then his shoulders sagged. "Okay." The way he said it, sounded like he was relieved by that suggestion. Clearly, the sub had been on edge and now he got an opportunity for somebody else to take charge. "But not with this monstrosity?" he asked, eyeing Derek's whip.

"No, just a strap."

Jackson groaned at that but nodded his head. Derek looked at Stiles with an apologetic expression. "Sorry, I'll have to leave you again for a bit. But I'll-"

"He could come along," Jackson cut in. "I won't mind if he is there." Stiles' eyebrows rose in surprise and Jackson smirked. "As long as he takes a turn after me and I get to watch him get the same."

_Oh._

Derek looked at him expectantly, implying that the idea was fine with him and he was leaving the decision to Stiles. And the temptation was kinda ridiculous but Stiles shook his head with a nervous chuckle. "No, I'm good. You guys have fun."

"You sure?" Jackson asked, his tone nothing short of flirtatious.

"Absolutely."

Stiles had no doubt that he made the right call and sounded firm and resolute as he said it. But then why did he end up feeling angry and frustrated once the other two left? Why did he not even want to check if there was a live feed for their room? Why did he have a sudden urge to leave the coolest and most expensive BDSM club without ever seeing what it had to offer?

Stiles didn't know why. Or maybe he didn't want to know why. He just got up and left.


	5. Just a few shares

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of banter in this one=)

Stiles texted Derek as soon as he got out of the club, saying that he was tired after the hard week and thanking him again for the invite. Looking at the text, it sounded like a pretty lame excuse, but it had polite wording, so maybe Derek won't think much of it.

And yet, Stiles kept checking his phone every couple of minutes, waiting for a snarky reply. He wondered if he was gonna regret throwing the opportunity to play in TRZ like that. Derek would probably invite him again at some point, but Stiles was fully determined to decline the invitation because… Because what exactly?

Well, there was the money aspect. It was one thing to get invited and another thing to use Derek as an ATM for everything he did in the club. That was just wrong. And surely he would rather invite someone who would actually play with him, right? Yeah, that too.

Not that Derek had a problem finding play partners. Subs were practically crawling all over him. And yes, that was pretty much always the case, but now that he wasn't boxed in his 'strict Master' persona, he was probably even more sought after. Stiles couldn't help but wonder what the scene between him and Jackson was like. What it would have been like if Stiles was there too. Would Derek be cold and stern like with Jeremy, or easygoing and playful like with the catgirl? Or somewhere in between?

 _Oh stop it, for fuck's sake, or you won't last even a month that Derek gave you. Pompous prick._ Stiles was most definitely NOT falling for him again. He was not a clueless teenager anymore and a pretty face ( ~~and abs and arms and omg, that ass~~ ) was not enough to get him interested. Derek's personality practically screamed 'bad news'. Even if they weren't working together Stiles would have still stayed away from him. Maybe. Probably.

Damn, he should have gone on and scened with a random Top. Maybe he wouldn't be feeling so sexually frustrated right now. Stiles thought about going to Brooklyn-9 and scratching that particular itch, but quickly dismissed the idea, the memories of last Friday still too fresh in his mind.

_Oh well, porn it is._

* * *

xxx

Stiles stared at the screen of his notebook, his heart beating an impressive drum solo in his chest, while his stomach twisted with a wave of nausea. He gritted his teeth, resisting an urge to punch the screen.

" _I'm looking forward to finishing what we've started."_

Fucking piece of shit!

Stiles deleted the message and reported and blocked yet another 99M Kinkster with an obnoxiously stupid nickname. Thank god he didn't go to B-9 yesterday. He probably ought to take a break from that club for a while. And maybe take a break from Fetlife too, since the fucker just didn't know when to stop.

Stiles kicked a wall.

 _Ow. Fucking hell._ Who would have thought that one stupid message would get him this riled up?

His foot was throbbing but not enough… Not in a way that would make him feel better, anyway. Rather in a way that made him feel stupid for letting this asshole get to him.

His phone rang and Stiles groaned when he saw it was Derek. Derek, who never bothered replying to his message and calling him out on his bullshit. Not that Stiles wanted Derek to poke into his reasoning, but he expected it and was oddly disappointed when Derek didn't.

"Yes?" Stiles answered the phone. His voice sounded clipped, which must have translated to the other side because the line was silent for a moment.

"Stiles?"

"Yes?" Stiles repeated, softening his tone.

"Are you ok?"

"Yeah. Just in pain."

"What happened?"

"I just hit my foot."

"Oh… Is it serious?"

"No. Did you want something?" There was another pause on Derek's side and Stiles cringed at his own rudeness. "Shit, that sounded worse than I meant it to. I mean, you called for a reason right?"

"Yes. I wanted to ask if you slept well."

"I... what?"

"Are you well-rested?"

Stiles couldn't tell if Derek was being romantic or jerking him around. "Yeees?" he drawled, unsure where Derek was going with this.

"Good. I'm just making sure you won't take a powder like yesterday, Cinderella," Derek said, his teasing instantly assuaging Stiles's prickly mood and dulling the pain in his foot.

"Oh, did you find my glass slipper?"

"Yes, at twelve it turned into a lexan paddle. I'll be happy to ' _return'_ it to you tonight."

Stiles couldn't help laughing at that. "Yeah, that was probably somebody else's then. I've never ' _had'_ a lexan paddle."

"All the more reason to ' _take a look'_ ," Derek joked, but before Stiles could get serious and turn him down again, he added, "Seriously though. There is a show in TRZ at 9 PM. You should come."

Stiles took a slow breath, covering his phone so that Derek wouldn't hear him sigh. "Thanks for the invitation Derek, but I can't accept."

"You have other plans?"

"No, that's not it." Stiles decided to cut to the chase. "I just don't feel comfortable leeching off of you."

He could practically hear the frown on the other side. "Stiles, I'm paying my membership regardless if you are there or not."

"But you are not paying for my drinks or whatever else they charge. I don't want to make a big deal out of a couple of beers but I also don't want to limit myself thinking about how everything I do will appear on your bank statement."

"Stiles the only thing that could potentially appear on my bank statement is condoms and lube in case you run out of complementary ones, and maybe if you decide to purchase something from the store to take home with you. Because everything that is there - all rooms, and clothing, and toys, and implements to play with, are already included in the membership. So if you are afraid I might find out that you dressed as a tentacle monster and played in the alien ship room, then you don't have to be."

"Alien ship? Is that a thing?" Stiles was torn between being amused and intrigued.

"I won't tell you. Come tonight and see for yourself. You have barely spent an hour there. Besides, I'm pretty sure you will like the show. It's like a Vegas act, a lot of dancing, but with a BDSM twist."

"I'm sure it's lovely but... Shouldn't you be inviting like.. a play-partner?"

Derek laughed. "If that's your worry, then it has a very easy solution."

" _Derek_. You know what I meant."

"My membership allows me to invite whoever I want. And I want to invite a friend. Honestly, Stiles, this is not charity or some elaborate plot to get into your pants. Regardless of how much you want to brush it off, you have been assaulted. In a place and in a way that should never happen. I just want you to have a safe space to play, and if it insults your dignity that I will be paying for your drinks, then you can give me whatever amount you think you spent and I will accept it without protest. Would that work for you?"

"I.. uhm, yeah, I guess?"

"Good, be there at 8:30."

Stiles had a "yessir" on the tip of his tongue but he bit it. "Do you order around _all_ your friends?"

"Of course not. Just you."

* * *

xxx

The first thing Stiles noticed when entering TRZ was that the central play area was cleared of all the "torture furniture" and all the seats in sight were taken. He looked around, eyes scanning the crowd in search of familiar faces, and then spotted the one he didn't necessarily want to see. Jackson caught his eye and waved for him to come. Stiles had half a mind to pretend he didn't see him, but then he noticed that Derek was with him and it was no longer an option.

"Cutting it close," Derek said, tapping his wrist.

Stiles gave him a wry smile. "Had to fill out everything again, since I returned the watch yesterday."

"Why would you do that, silly?" Jackson cooed, but it didn't sound as mocking as Stiles wanted it to. In fact, the sub looked quite subdued compared to yesterday. One could almost call him friendly.

"Well, there's still a few minutes. I'll go get us drinks. What would you like?" Derek asked him, getting up.

Stiles glanced at Jackson and then smiled at Derek sweetly, "I'll have Tom Collins." The Dom nodded, missing the jab, but Stiles was pretty sure the recipient got it.

When Derek left, Jackson shifted closer, eyeing him with an amused expression, while Stiles pointedly ignored him. "You don't like me," he stated matter-of-factly.

"What gave me away?" Stiles deadpanned, making Jackson laugh.

"I know you think I'm a jerk, but you shouldn't take it personally. I'm always like this when Danny is away."

Stiles already figured as much. He both envied and detested needy brats like him, because in his eyes feeling sad and lonely didn't give anyone permission to act like a dick. But then again, not like Jackson really did anything to him. And watching him squirm in his seat was more than a little satisfying. Derek must have given him quite a strapping for it to hurt like this even on a cushioned sofa. Certainly helped his attitude though.

"I'm not going to apologize if that's what you are waiting for."

Then again. Maybe not.

"Nah, watching you fidget is more than enough."

"Oh… that is actually not half as bad really." Jackson gave him a sly smile. "I'm squirming mostly for Derek's benefit. You know, wouldn't want to hurt his precious dominant ego thinking he didn't do a good enough job."

"I think hurting his precious dominant ego would actually do him a world of good."

Jackson shook his head. "That's because you never saw him drop. Trust me, the bloated arrogance is just a defense mechanism."

Stiles has never seen any Top drop, actually. If any of his play partners ever experienced it, they never told him about it. Probably because Stiles sucked at relationships, and his one-offs didn't have enough emotional investment to result in a Top drop… even if the scene flopped. Frankly, Stiles had no idea what he would even do about it, so it was probably better not knowing.

Jackson _had_ a relationship. He probably knew all about the turmoils that plagued his partner and knew all the ways how to make it better. In return, he could let go of his self-control and be a total jackass knowing that his Dom won't give up on him. Because that's what people in relationships did, right? Depend on each other.

Stiles grew quiet, mulling over his past relationships (or rather, lack thereof) but Jackson must have interpreted his silence as jealousy.

"Derek is friends with Danny. He and I are not all that close. I'm too much of a brat for him." Stiles wasn't surprised, because Jackson was too much of a brat even for him, and he actually liked bratting. "He just looks after me for Danny's sake. So if that's what you are worried about-"

"No," Stiles interrupted him. "It's not. I'm not with Derek. We know each other from work. I didn't turn you down yesterday because of you, but because of him. It would have been too awkward afterward."

"Alright." Jackson didn't argue, but the word was wrapped in skepticism.

Derek came back carrying the drinks, he handed Stiles his cocktail and then turned to Jackson pointing at his seat. "You are in my spot."

Jackson rolled his eyes and moved back to the other side of the couch with an exasperated, "Yes, Sheldon."

"Who?"

"Sheldon Cooper. Big Bang Theory," Stiles supplied but watching Derek's blank look it was obvious the reference flew over his head.

"Is that popular?"

Jackson shook his head. "You are a lost cause."

***

The show was pretty cool. A lot of contemporary dancing with an underlying story about a cruel slave master who fell in love with one of them. It was visually impressive, the titillating costumes were all ancient Rome but with elements of modern BDSM, and a couple of whippings, though artistic and not excessive, were very real nonetheless.

Somewhere towards the end, his bladder started to whine about the size of Tom Collins he drank and he excused himself to the toilet. Unlike other places, the toilet at TRZ screamed kink club, because the wall was one giant vending machine selling a variety of condoms, lubes, dildoes, buttplugs, cuffs, gags, bunny ears, etc.

As he entered he caught a glimpse of a guy forcing a decent-sized butt plug with a fluffy tail into himself. Stiles wasn't sure whether he was supposed to look or turn away, but since the bunny-guy chose to do it in the open, he probably wanted an audience. The wink he gave him certainly suggested so. Stiles noted the pool of lube he left on the floor and made a mental note not to step in it on his way back.

He was washing his hands when another guy entered the bathroom. He was dressed in business casual, making him look a bit out of place. Stiles opened his mouth to warn him not to slip, but he was too late. On instinct Stiles jumped to catch him and ended up bodyslammed full force against the sinks, taking one of them down with him with a loud crash. It was lucky that Stiles was there to cushion the fall because otherwise, the guy would have surely broken his neck. That thought was however quickly replaced with intense mind-numbing pain in his shoulder.

Stiles's breath was knocked out for a second, but then he cried out, trying to push the weight from his shoulder but his hand refused to work.

"Shit," he heard through the veil of panic and agony, "Oh my God, are you okay?"

He finally opened his eyes, which closed themselves in a painful grimace and looked up. The man was towering over him with a concerned face. A _handsome_ face I might add. He looked to be in his mid to late 30s with kind eyes and flawlessly unkempt 5 o'clock shadow.

"I'm fine." Stiles was taken aback by how raspy his voice sounded. Probably because he forgot to unclench his jaw.

"You don't look fine. Where does it hurt?"

"My shoulder."

"Shit." The man frowned, examining it. "Yeah, that doesn't look right." The way he turned away to avoid seeing it any more than necessary told Stiles more than he cared to know. "Can you stand?"

"I don't know. I'm not sure I even want to try."

"Yes. Right. You stay here. I'll go get help."

"Okay."

But the guy remained standing there looking awkward and a bit lost. "I have no idea where to go," he admitted.

"I thought you work here. You are not wearing a watch."

"Yeah, well... not exactly. It's not really my crowd."

Stiles was confused. Was the guy a reporter who sneaked in and now was spooked by all the fetish wear? Well, that didn't matter right now because Stiles was in need of medical help.

"I'm new here, so I don't know either, but you could ask at the bar? They'll know what to do."

"Yes. Right," the dude nodded and made for the exit but then stopped. "What's your name?"

"Stiles."

"Sorry, I don't know what that means. What's your real name?"

"Stiles _is_ my real name. Just go." The urgency in his voice forced the man out of his stupor. He promptly took off, leaving Stiles alone on the floor among the porcelain debris. Stiles wondered if the guy will really look for help. If he was not here _officially_ , he might not want to blow his cover for Stiles's sake. Not that Stiles was doomed otherwise. I mean, somebody ought to need to use the toilet again, right?

Shit. This hurt. Stiles's pain tolerance was rather average, but even if he was the biggest painslut in the world he would not have enjoyed this type of pain. He tried to move his hand but the shooting ache quickly discouraged him.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Stiles groaned, closing his eyes in frustration.

"Stiles?" The relief he felt when he saw Derek was something Stiles was in no disposition to scrutinize right now. "Jesus. What happened?"

"I fell," Stiles croaked, "I mean, somebody fell on me... And my shoulder… Oh God, it hurts. Fucking kill me." _But first, please make it better._

"It's dislocated," Derek stated, gripping his injured arm and gently moving it.

"DON'T TOUCH ME!" Stiles shouted panicking and Derek jerked his hands back as if he got burned. Stiles's eyes watered from his own outburst. "I mean, please touch me. Pet me, reassure me, do the hair thing, just don't touch my hand. Oh God, I said it out loud. This thing just keeps getting better and better. Forget it, could you please just-"

" _Stiles,_ " Derek cut him off, using _that_ tone. "Be quiet. Close your eyes and take a deep breath for me."

"I-"

"Deeep breath. In and out. Come on." Derek buried his hand in Stiles's hair, massaging his scalp, the low purr of his voice dulling the panic. "That's it. In and out. Good boy."

Stiles felt his body relaxing under Derek's touch. So soothing and comforting... and _embarrassing_. He acted as if Stiles was a frightened animal that needed to be coaxed into acting normal. Apparently, a simple injury was enough to reduce him into these stupid fits of hysteria, taking over his mouth to blabber nonsense and properly humiliate himself.

"Shit, how do I keep getting into these situations," he groaned. "It's like whenever I'm around you I have to make a complete fool out of myself."

"Shh, I told you to be quiet."

Stiles shook his head, grimacing. "I'm pathetic."

"You're not. In fact, if you were mine, you would be getting a good whooping for talking yourself down like that."

"But I'm hurt!"

"Not on your butt." Derek raised an eyebrow which prompted a reluctant smile out of Stiles.

"Talk about adding insult to injury!"

"And not even sorry."

"I'm never scening with you."

"We'll see."

The banter certainly helped take his mind off the fact that he couldn't move his arm and that his shoulder hurt like a bitch. Stiles was pretty sure that it was what Derek was going for and he couldn't help falling a little in love with him for it. A minute later the doors swung open and several staff members (that Stiles hoped had some kind of medical background) rushed towards him, followed by the original culprit whose name Stiles never learned.

"Peter?"

"Derek?"

"What are you doing here?"

Well, the two obviously knew each other. Though judging by Derek's expression, not in a good way.

"Injuring locals. What are you doing here?"

"I'm serious." Yes, Derek was definitely pissed.

"So am I," Peter shrugged with mock innocence. "Stiles here is my first victim. I caught him off guard, all alone in the bathroom, Among-Us style."

Derek folded his arms on the chest and glared. Stiles recognized his signature 'you're in trouble' posture. Did that make Peter his sub? His ex-sub?

"Ohh, don't give me 'the Look'. It doesn't work on _me_."

Or maybe not.

"Are you spying on me?"

"Don't be so full of yourself. I'm merely checking out my newest investment."

"Investment?!" Oh no, Derek looked like he was about to combust. "For crying out loud, Peter, have you bought this place?!"

"Noooo, I didn't _buy_ it," Peter waved his hands as if such an accusation was deeply offending, "… just a few shares."

"I'm gonna kill you."

"There are witnesses."

"I'm gonna punch your face in."

"Sorry, but you know I'm not really into _this_. Does it still work for you if I'm not into _this_?"

"As long as I can make you cry," Derek growled ominously.

"Come on Derek, what's the big deal. You like hotels, I like nightclubs."

"This is not a nightclub!"

"You are right, there's way more money in this. Just you wait, I'm gonna be rich." The mocking way Peter said it heavily suggested that he already was.

"Does the word privacy or boundaries mean anything to you?!" Derek's voice was dangerously gaining in volume. Stiles didn't remember ever seeing him this mad before. "You crossed the line, Peter. This is NOT ok!"

"Oh, stop with the bitching, I didn't mean to break your favorite toy."

"I'm about to break your favorite nose and then dislocate both of your favorite arms!"

It took Stiles a moment to realize that by the toy Peter meant him. He wasn't even _with_ Derek and already for an uninvolved bystander he passed for one of his _toys._ Stiles' ego took a hit. Many subs out there would not mind being called toys or playthings or cocksockets, but Stiles didn't care for it. Especially when it was used in such a belittling way. Especially when it implied that there were plenty of other toys out there and Derek could find himself a new 'favorite' at any time.

"SHIT!" Stiles yelled as his shoulder was socketed back in. He got so engrossed with an ongoing argument he stopped paying attention to what the medical team was doing with his arm. And it was probably for the best because he would have freaked out. The sound of the joint slipping back into its original place will now haunt him forever. The pain was gone, or rather replaced with a lingering phantom ache, but he was still shuddering from the procedure. _Ugh._

They put a sling on his shoulder fixing it in place, gave him some analgesic cream, and advised him to see an orthopedist in the next few days. Stiles marveled at the service, though with all the bondage and suspension scenes, a dislocated shoulder was probably not an uncommon occurrence. Still, it was one of those things that made the club feel like a safe place to play in. Not that there was going to be any playing in Stiles's near future.

Oh well.

By the time he was released, Derek and Peter were nowhere in sight. Stiles found them sitting in the main hall still bickering. They weren't alone though, there was a scantily dressed woman kneeling at Derek's feet and fluttering her lashes at both of them, which made Derek look oddly uncomfortable, while Peter was clearly having a field day with it. He overheard the word 'uncle' thrown around which clarified a few things. And Stiles would have felt bad for Derek, except seeing another one of his _toys_ there rid him of any compassion.

Derek jumped off his seat as soon as he saw Stiles. He looked at the sling and grimaced, then glanced between Stiles and the two people he left at the table, the inner battle clear on his face. "Come, I'll give you a ride."

Stiles was probably meant to be flattered that he got the priority, but he wasn't. "I'm fine."

"Good to know," Derek replied as if he didn't get that Stiles was turning him down. Well, someone seemed to have a problem with understanding the word "no".

"I don't need you to drive me."

"Don't be ridiculous-"

Stiles bristled at the word. "Haven't you heard? _Toys_ nowadays are very advanced. They can even call an Uber all by themselves. Shocking, isn't it?"

" _Stiles."_

"Thanks for the invite, Derek. It was a blast," he snapped, turning on his heel. And that felt good for about a second, then Stiles felt like a jerk. He turned back towards Derek with a tired sigh. "Sorry. It's obviously not your fault. Or anyone's really. It was an accident. But I'm fine now and you are clearly in the middle of something with... Peter." _And whoever the kneeling girl is._

"Thanks for saving my life, kid," the guy waved at him, all charm and toothy grin.

"Your friendly neighborhood submissive, at your service," Stiles saluted, managing a forced smile. Several people chuckled. After all, Stiles was nothing if not a crowd-pleaser. The night didn't end up being all bad. It certainly had its highlights. However, as Stiles walked towards the exit, he couldn't get rid of the strong sense of déjà vu.


	6. Silver, white, maybe grey, Honda or Toyota

Stiles looked at the golden smartwatch in his palm and then twirled it around his finger. Peter's 'thanks for saving my life' gift was both over the top and oddly fitting at the same time. Stiles saw the ridiculous price of a yearly golden membership at TRZ and he would never have accepted it if Peter had actually paid for it. Which as he claimed he did not, saying it was just one of the freebies that came with becoming a major shareholder.

It was also a gift that came (at least according to Peter) with no strings attached because the guy was heterosexual and not in the scene. Stiles did put up a bit of a fight with accepting it, but in the end, Peter said that he didn't have to go to the club if he didn't want to, he just didn't know what else to get him. So Stiles accepted just to be polite if anything.

The golden membership covered pretty much everything. Unlike Derek, he couldn't invite anyone to the club and he had to pay for professionals if he wanted to play with them, but other than that, he would only pay for the drinks - having his own card attached to it. Which was certainly an improvement over being Derek's sugar baby.

After logging in to Fetlife to a new barrage of messages and comments from the same anonymous dickhead trying to intimidate and threaten him, Stiles was more and more inclined to abandon Brooklyn 9 for good and enjoy his newfound membership in the elite club. That would have to wait for his shoulder to heal of course, since apparently bypassing the immobilization could lead to future dislocations. And Stiles had no desire to experience _that_ ever again.

Stiles's phone beeped with an incoming message.

_D: Need major changes. Come back to me ASAP._

Derek was not big on messaging, his emails were usually rid of any pleasantries as well. Just a file attached, no hello no goodbye and even 'KR, Derek' felt like a big favor. He never bothered responding to Stiles's emails either, so Stiles had to call him whenever he needed to clarify something or get feedback. Derek always picked up, but if Stiles managed to catch him at the wrong time, he would get a very grumpy dick on the phone. At first, Stiles took offense, because that was no way to speak to your "friend" which Derek claimed him to be, but then again it was a somewhat ok way to speak to a contractor, so Stiles stopped taking it personally. Derek was a busy person and Stiles had plenty of other work too, there was no point to hold grievances just because somebody was curt with you on the phone.

_S: I'll look into it first thing tomorrow._

That was a lie because Stiles already opened the email to check what it was that Derek needed. And apparently, Derek wanted him to move the pool to the roof, which this late into construction was going to be a lot of unnecessary headaches.

_D: Spank you very much._

_D: Oops autocorrect_

_S: That's not how autocorrect works…_

_D: Mine does_

_D: Did you just roll your eyes at me?_

Stiles chuckled at that. And not just because he totally did, but because Derek was pretty clueless when it came to pop culture references and yet here he was quoting cheesy lines from 50 shades. It showed just how little he cared about appearing silly. Stiles would love to have that kind of confidence.

_S: If you were a hot dominant billionaire I might have said yes, but since you are not I'm gonna go with 'see you tomorrow' and 'you better have a good excuse for the atrocity you've just sent me'._

_D: You keep forgetting who the_ ~~ _dom_~~ _client is here_

_S: Thankfully I have you to remind me_

_D: Brat_

_***_

Stiles found Derek talking to Greenberg in the hallway. The younger man was nothing short of salivating which seemed to be getting on Derek's nerves. He barked at him to pay attention and repeat what had been said to him but only managed to get him all flustered. When a minute passed and Greenberg still failed to procure a coherent sentence, Stiles decided to put them both out of their misery and make his presence known.

The relief on Derek's face was almost comical. "Stiles, I've been waiting for you, let's go." He turned back and gave Greenberg a tired look. "Just don't do _anything!_ I'll have somebody else see to it."

"Ouch," Stiles said when they got far enough for the poor guy not to hear them.

"We employ fucking morons," Derek grumbled, shaking his head.

"You're intimidating and he has a crush. Cut him some slack."

"We don't pay him to cut him slack."

Stiles almost blurted something about Derek acting as if it was coming out of his own pocket but stopped himself just in time. Frankly, it was not his place to tell Derek how to manage his people, so he wisely held his tongue. Derek was already not in the mood and Stiles was not coming as a bearer of good news, so he chose to pick his battles.

"Blessed be the fruit," Erica greeted them from behind her secretary-desk.

Stiles smiled, this time not caught off guard by the reference. "May the Lord open."

Erica's eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. "I like him," she told Derek, nodding with approval.

"Just because he knows whatever niche pop culture reference that was?"

"The Handmaid's Tale is not that niche," Stiles argued.

Erica waved her hand at Derek. "This caveman hasn't even seen Game of Thrones, everything is niche to him."

"What?! You haven't seen-"

"We are here for work, let's go." Derek caught Stiles's arm and started pushing him into his office.

"I knew it was bad, I didn't know it was that bad!"

"WORK!"

Stiles was practically thrown inside, much to his and Erica's amusement. For all the teasing Derek did himself, he didn't seem to be all that appreciative to be on the receiving end.

"I like Erica," Stiles said, not even trying to hide his grin.

Derek gave him an exasperated look. "Yes, you two would make a great couple."

"Aww, don't sound so jealous. I'm sure you will find 'the one' someday too," Stiles chaffed good-naturedly. "By the way does she know…?"

Derek didn't ask to clarify what Stiles had meant. There was only one thing they had in common. "She is my secretary."

Stiles raised an eyebrow waiting for Derek to elaborate.

"Which means that I told her nothing and she knows everything anyway."

"Huh, have you ever brought anyone in here…?" Stiles asked but didn't wait for the reply cause Derek's hesitation told him everything. "Oh you so did, you slut!" He let out a hearty laugh. It felt good to say it, cause come on, how many subs did Derek go through on a regular night? Stiles hoped it came off teasing, but the way Derek narrowed his eyes at him he half expected to be called out on being jealous.

"Hey, would you mind holding a bar of soap for me? In your mouth? For 10 minutes?"

Stiles flushed. Anyone not in the scene hearing this would probably not even understand that Derek just threatened to wash his mouth out with soap and that it was a special BDSM brand of flirting. "Sorry, I'd love to but I'll need my mouth to argue how ridiculous my client is for wanting to move the swimming pool to the roof this late into construction," Stiles carefully diverted the conversation to the business topic.

"That's fine then cause all I want to hear right now is, 'Yes Sir, I'll get it done'."

Huh. Derek calling himself a Sir was practically asking for a bratty reply, which would inevitably lead to more threats and more inappropriate flirting, so Stiles ignored it, focusing on the business matter at hand.

"Give me a couple millions and a couple months and I'll get it done."

"We can talk money, but I need the hotel opened for the original deadline, we have a convention planned for April. The word is out, the money is in, the dates are booked, there's no turning back."

"Well, that's going to be a problem then," Stiles said, dropping the teasing undertone and getting serious, "because while I might have exaggerated on the budget, the timeline is not negotiable. Getting all the permits takes forever and I can't start the construction work till we get it."

"Alright. Who do I need to bribe?"

"Derek, this doesn't work this way. You need an expert assessment from like 5 different departments. The rooftop pool is not impossible even in Manhattan, but it's not exactly easy."

"Can't you start the work while you're getting all the permits?"

"And that's another thing." Stiles let out a frustrated sigh. "I can't."

"Why not?"

"Cause that's not how we do things."

"We?"

"Implex, it's against the guidelines."

Derek looked at him as if Stiles just proclaimed the Earth was flat. "What? You are telling me it can't be done because of some stupid company policy? Jesus Stiles, don't be naive. Do you think Implex would even still _be_ on the market if anyone followed those guidelines? Come on, you know better than I do how big the competition is out there. I can make a phone call and have 3 different contractors finishing this hotel within the estimated time frame."

And the worst thing was, Derek was not bluffing. And Stiles knew it. He crossed his arms on his chest and fumed silently, not knowing what else to say or do.

"Stiles, I'm not saying this to be a dick. If you are unable to work this out, I'll just find somebody else who will. It's nothing personal, it is what it is."

Stiles sighed. As much as he wanted to throw a fit over how unfair Derek was to suddenly spring it on him, and why did he even want a rooftop pool, he knew that Derek was under no obligation to justify his wishes to him. And if Stiles dared to complain, he would have probably been told as much. Derek might have flirted with him at every opportunity but he also made it abundantly clear that he won't be compromising on this business venture for Stiles's benefit. And that was fine. Derek took his work seriously, and so did Stiles.

"Fine." Stiles waved his hands in defeat. "I'll see what I can do."

***

As he drove back to the office Stiles tried to come up with solutions to speed up the process so that they could meet the original deadline, and frankly, the prospects didn't look optimistic. It wasn't even a question of whether or not he will be forced to cut corners, but rather which of them would be the least likely to lead to trouble.

The engine warning light was on again. It had been coming on and off for over a month and Stiles really ought to have somebody look at it, but there was just no time lately, and now with this stupid pool there will be even less time. Stiles was so deep in thought it took him a while to notice that there was a car tailing him for a suspicious number of turns. Of course, he wasn't the only one out there who knew the detours for the particularly busy parts of Manhattan, and yet, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that he was being followed.

It was stupid and irrational and Stiles was neither of those things, but the prickling sensation on the back of his neck was hard to ignore.

 _Oh, fuck it._ If he was gonna be a paranoid drama queen, might as well act on it. He steered the wheel to the right, fully intending to drive around the block with a sole purpose to put his mind to rest. The car followed him the first right turn and then the second… and the third. That's when his heart started jumping out of his chest, as the cold sweat condensed along the hairline. _No way. This can't be happening._

Stiles took the last right turn and watched the car behind him go straight and disappear in the afternoon traffic. He drove three more blocks and then parked on the sidewalk. His hands were gripping the wheel as if his life depended on it. He wished he could come up with a reasonable explanation of why anyone would take such a detour, but there simply wasn't one. It didn't make sense. Sure, he didn't follow Stiles _all_ the way around the block, but perhaps he realized it would have been too obvious and decided to change course.

It wasn't just suspicious. It stank. And Stiles might have been able to dismiss it as a mere coincidence if he didn't receive a weird message on his Facebook last night. Somebody with a profile picture of a guy in a pig mask asked him if he knew any good farm in the neighborhood. In New-fucking-York! Of course, Stiles immediately connected it to the comments he was getting on Fetlife - ' _I bet you squealed like a pig'._ Shudder. And was it really so improbable to find somebody named Stiles on social networks? I mean how many Stileses could there be? And he had his face on his profile picture, making it even easier. So the guy could already know his name, his workplace, his friends...

 _Shit._ Did that mean that he had a stalker? Or did it mean that he had a wild imagination and a severe case of paranoia?

And to make matters worse, he didn't even remember what car it was anymore. He should have checked the plate number or at least a brand… In fact, he couldn't even recall the color. Was it silver? White? Light grey? Something generic. Honda or Toyota. _Yeah… that narrowed it fucking down._

_Sigh._

Well, if the guy was really stalking him, surely he will get another opportunity to spot it. And if it was all in his head, then it should peter out on its own. Not like Stiles was doomed to look over his shoulder for the rest of his life just because somebody got handsy with him in the club and then sent him a couple of nasty messages.

* * *

xxx

A few weeks passed and Stiles finally got rid of the sling and started to properly use his arm again. Well truth be told, he was totally cheating and using it anyway, but he didn't admit it to the doctor and there was no one else there to scold him. The wish for somebody to tell him off was ridiculous anyway. Stiles was a grown-up and didn't need anyone to police him and tell him what to do.

Right?

It must have been his lack of sex talking. It's been forever since Stiles's last scene. And yes it didn't go exactly well, but he was not gonna be celibate forever now, was he? Admittedly there was a shitton of work to keep his mind occupied, what with Derek moving the pool and troubles with the garage spaces and other projects that never stopped piling up on his desk despite the fact that he was supposed to be fully dedicated to this one. Everyone already got used to using Stiles to catch up their slack and now he didn't have his mentor to bail him out and delegate it to somebody else, which resulted in a lot of unbilled overtime hours.

Stiles most definitely needed a break. And a scene. Tonight. Impact play. Hard enough to bury him deep into subspace and leave him nice and sore for the days to come. The fact that he was sporting a semi just from the idea alone showed how much his submissive needs had been neglected lately and Stiles fully intended to amend the situation tonight.

***

"Derek? Can I ask you something?"

Stiles decided that rather than blindly trying to approach Doms - something that could actually be considered taboo for some of them - he would ask Derek to introduce him to somebody.

Stiles did come by to TRZ a few times on his own just to hang out and mingle and even participated in a few scenes when people were looking for the crowd of onlookers to add to the humiliation/shaming element of whatever they were doing. For example, there was a pretty cool private 'slave auction' party, which was a surprisingly fun and lighthearted affair. Stiles always thought these things were too demeaning for his liking, but the uplifting atmosphere and bidding wars were actually anything but. And there was a lot of money raised for charity which was a pleasant bonus too.

But despite visiting a few times, he still didn't really know anyone and that's why he decided to ask Derek for help. "So I've been thinking..."

"That's a good start," Derek nodded with mock seriousness. Stiles could never get used to the abrupt changes in his demeanor. One minute he was a harsh Master with an icy glare and menacing presence and the next he was playful and teasing and insufferably arrogant. Stiles almost always got the latter, but he got to see the stern Derek around other subs plenty. Probably more than he cared for. And he would lie if he said that he didn't pine for similar treatment, but then again remembering their scene together he actually hated Derek's demeanor back then, so maybe it was better this way. (Was it though?)

Stiles tilted his head in annoyance, but Derek was decidedly unapologetic, so he just continued, "You've been a member for a while and you know people here. Do you think you could introduce me to somebody? Like - to play? Tonight?"

"Sure. What are you interested in?"

"Impact play."

Derek looked around for a few seconds and then nodded like he found a perfect candidate. "Me."

 _Oh, that smug motherfucker._ Stiles rolled his eyes. "Pass."

"Hmm, not the usual response I get."

"Get used to it, _champ_ ," Stiles threw Derek's catchphrase back at him.

"Brat," Derek chuckled, not a smidgen of displeasure in his voice. Clearly, he didn't expect Stiles to agree, to begin with. "Come I'll introduce you."

Stiles wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't this. The guy was hot! Roughly the same height and build as Stiles, he had longish blond hair and the most gorgeous come-fuck-me babyface. If Stiles didn't see his watch glowing with the purple undertone, he would've automatically pigeonholed him as a sub. Of course, subs and Doms came in all shapes and sizes, but more often than not one couldn't help but compartmentalize people based on appearances.

"Stiles, Chase, Chase, Stiles," Derek did the short introduction. "Stiles is looking for some impact play and Chase is looking for somebody to teach him proper English."

The blondie offered his hand, chuckling softly. "Don't listen to him. Derek just can't get over my Aussie accent." (Which Stiles found quite sexy actually.)

"Well, you can't blame poor subs for disobeying you, if no one can fucking understand you," Derek chaffed.

"If it comes to worst I speak a bit of Spanish," Stiles offered, shaking his hand.

"And if the communication fails and things go south at least he can patch you back together afterward."

Stiles raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"I'm a surgeon," Chase explained.

"A surgeon and a sadist? Sounds scary."

"Good," Chase smirked at him, "I like them scared."

"Have fun," Derek said, taking it as his cue to leave and winking at Stiles before he did.

Stiles felt a mild stab of disappointment. If Derek really wanted him for himself, why would he introduce Stiles to somebody who looked like he jumped out of a front page of a men's underwear catalog? For all his flirting and proclamations about how Stiles will fall in love with him, he clearly couldn't care less if Stiles got himself a hot Dominant to play with. And to be honest, why should he care? With all the subs ready to crawl at his feet… not like Stiles was anything special.

Stiles shook his head to shake off the inapt thoughts and gave his newfound partner a subtle once-over. "Do all dudes in Australia look like this?"

"Like what?"

"Tall, blond, movie poster handsome. There's you, Chris Hemsworth, and... and yeah that's it."

Chase snorted. "You're so getting gagged."

Stiles liked him already. And he got even more impressed when Chase scanned his watch and opened the door to a private playroom. It was one of those impact play rooms with a variety of spanking benches and crosses to choose from and a large arsenal of spanking implements covering the entire wall. Stiles felt giddy just watching and imagining what different items would feel like on the bare skin. It's been forever since he got a proper session and he felt rightfully nervous.

"Wow, that is impressive."

"Alright, let's keep it short," Chase cut to the chase, "Tell me which you don't want to be used on you."

Stiles pointed at the bullwhips and canes and then frowned at the weird unidentified implement. "What's that? It looks like spaghetti."

"A bamboo bundle - it's like birch but with bamboo. Not as hardcore as it sounds."

"Oh." Stiles didn't mind the birch. He shrugged. "Ok."

"Alright, anywhere you don't want to be hit?"

"My face?"

"I meant, on your body."

"My face _is-_ "

"Yeah finish that thought, smartypants, I dare you."

Stiles giggled like a schoolgirl, some of the tension dissipating. He liked that Chase was not a stickler for etiquette. His laissez-faire approach seemed to be exactly what Stiles needed at the moment. "I'm fine with the back, ass, thighs, but I did have a shoulder injury not long ago so… It's mostly healed, but I'm a bit squeamish on my right side."

"Ok, anything else I should know?"

"Uhm, yeah, uh… my last scene didn't go well," Stiles admitted, rubbing the back of his neck to ease the discomfort. "A random guy started flogging me while I was blindfolded and tied to a cross and then decided to stick his fingers inside me… DM got there before he could do anything else, but... yeah. That."

"I'm sorry," Chase said, frowning. "Uh, if it helps, I'm straight. In fact, I'm not interested in your dick, balls, or your hole whatsoever. I won't touch you and _you_ won't touch yourself either. If you manage to come just from the spanking, then you will be lying in your own sticky mess for the rest of the session. It's not really sexual for me, I just enjoy making my subs achy, sore, and the right kind of miserable."

"Lovely." It was exactly what Stiles needed. And Chase being straight pleased him more than it should have because it meant that Derek introduced him to someone who couldn't potentially build a relationship with him. Not that Stiles wanted a relationship with Derek. Or with anyone.

"Are you okay with bondage?"

"Yes, but no blindfold."

"How about a gag?"

"Uhm… unsure?"

"The gag is not really for your benefit, it's for mine. My scenes are partly sensory deprivation. I like to listen to loud music as I go and I don't want to have the songs ruined by your screams."

"Wow, ok." Stiles scratched his head bewildered. "Uhm, you are not gonna torture me with Baby Shark or anything like that, are you?" When Chase just stared at him in confusion, he sang, "Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, Baby shark, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo, doo…" he trailed off watching the cringe on the Dom's face. "Uhm, yeah I'd tell you to google it, but you are better off not knowing."

"That was painful. I'm not _that_ much of a sadist. I'll torture you with metal."

That didn't sound so bad. "How loud is loud?"

"Very loud."

"What about safewords?"

"I give you the remote control," Chase said, waving the stereo remote in his hand. "Anything wrong and you stop the music. There isn't a better attention grabber than a sudden silence. You stop the music, I take the gag off and check in with you.

"What if I press it by accident?"

"Don't worry about it. It happens."

"What if it happens more than once?" Stiles pressed.

"If you start doing it on purpose I'll know I have to up my ante," Chase replied with a smile. "That being said, I'm not into the whole push and pull stuff. You want something, you ask for it, no need to act out."

"Uh, okay. Fair enough, you can gag me."

"We'll start without one, and see if you can manage the noise level yourself first."

"Right. Wait. How hard are you gonna go?"

"I prefer to drag out your misery, so expect long and painful but bearable… most of the time." Damn that devilish smile. Stiles almost felt sorry the guy was straight.

***

Playing with Chase was nothing like what he experienced before. The music was really a thing. It blocked all the sounds leaving just the delicious pain delivered perfectly to the beat of the songs. Stiles was never big on death metal, but he had to admit that it was oddly fitting for an intense BDSM scene. Chase alternated rhythms, matching them with various implements, and by the end of the second song, Stiles was floating in subspace.

They ended up doing 5 or 6 songs, and Stiles would have been fine to go on, but Chase said it was enough for the first time. He untied him, fed him, rubbed some cream all over him, and petted him till Stiles got out of his droopy state. He did everything by the book, but Stiles couldn't help but compare him to Derek. For surgeons to be good at what they did they had to detach themselves and treat their patients like meat, rather than human beings. And it must have transferred into his aftercare, which felt like a set of tasks performed with meticulous, almost robotic precision and little to no 'feel' to it. But Stiles was not about to complain. He was nice and sore and pumped with endorphins to last him an entire week.

That's why he went on scening with Chase several times over the course of the following weeks. And not just Chase, Stiles played with a couple of others too. It was hit and miss really, but Stiles was happy to get back into his element and fulfill his submissive needs. It helped to take his mind off his workload, as well as the increasing amount of weird messages from his obsessive secret admirer. At least Stiles never saw anyone following him again, but he kept on alert, subconsciously keeping track of any car that seemed to be on the same route.

A month Derek gave him had passed and Stiles successfully resisted his charms. They hung out together on occasion at TRZ - as friends, talking about their scenes, the kink in general, sometimes work. They never stopped flirting or teasing each other, but it was all there was. Not that Derek's casual topping or ever-present inappropriate threats weren't tempting.

Speaking of threats, Stiles was likely to be on the receiving end of some undoubtedly juicy ones today, because he was yet again running late. He had a meeting with Derek and of course, he managed to forget one of the main files at the construction site. It wasn't a long detour, but it was likely to secure him a snarcastic (=snarky+sarcastic) dressing down.

It was late afternoon and the site was pretty much empty at this point. Stiles almost made it back to the car when a damp piece of cloth was pressed against his face, a sweet flowery smell attacking his nostrils. Stiles jerked away in panic, but he was slammed against the wall, the rag pressed even tighter, suffocating him.

For a brief moment, Stiles thought - this was it. But then his brain wired up in an emergency mode, analyzing the situation. He was not being killed, he was being kidnapped. That meant that the alcohol in the cloth was most likely chloroform and his kidnapper watched too many movies, where the victims passed out with the first whiff of the substance. Not that it couldn't knock a person out, but it sure took more than a couple of seconds.

Stiles started growing limp to give his attacker a false sense of accomplishment.

"That's it, piggy, nice and docile for your Master."

Stiles wanted to puke. He recognized the voice, the memory of those fat fingers between his buttcheeks making him cringe. Ugh. He jerked to the side and managed to break free, landing hard on his back and knocking the air out of his lungs. The victory was short-lived though because the next second the rag was back on his face and he was being dragged away from his car.

The panic started settling in, as his fight proved to be futile and his attempts weaker by every second. Dammit, there had to be something he could do! His thoughts were scattered and his consciousness was slowly but surely slipping away from him. But for once, the luck seemed to be on his side because suddenly the asshole tripped and fell down on his ass. At least Stiles assumed it was his ass, he was too out of it to see. What a clumsy fucking kidnapper, but whatever, Stiles will take it. He gasped for air, rolled away, and managed to land a decent kick into something soft, which he hoped were his balls, but was probably just his thigh. Either way, the fucker yelped and then bolted, finally figuring that kidnapping Stiles was going to be too much trouble.

Stiles heard the screech of the tires through the pounding in his temples and it took him a couple of minutes to refocus his vision. Damn that shit was strong. It oddly reminded him of a good beating session, feeling floaty, tired, and sore. Except floating came with a headache and there were no endorphins to ride alongside the adrenalin rush. And why was he scrutinizing the hormones right now? He had just been assaulted.

Shit.

Stiles didn't know how long he was sitting there numbly staring at the wall and trying to get his shit together. He reached for his phone to call 911, but then noticed a missed call from Derek and called him instead.

" _Stiles_ , how nice of you to call," Derek was firing on all cylinders with his sarcasm, "I've only been waiting for half an hour here, but please take your ti-"

"Derek, I can't come right now," Stiles managed to croak out. He barely recognized his own voice and it effectively stopped Derek from his rant.

"What happened?"

"I think I…" Stiles had a sudden inexplicable urge to laugh. He quelled it, taking a deep breath instead. "I think I might have a stalker."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chase is obviously borrowed from another show, but we can pretend he is just another OC;)


	7. Late-night company

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year everyone!

" _I think I…" Stiles had a sudden inexplicable urge to laugh. He quelled it, taking a deep breath instead. "I think I might have a stalker."_

_***_

"Might have a stalker?" Derek repeated, sounding confused.

"Yeah, remember that guy from B-9? He has been bombarding me with messages and then there was this car and I thought I must be going crazy but apparently, my spidey sense is fully functional and that silver Toyota or whatever-"

"Whoa, Stiles, hold on. You are not making any sense."

"He attacked me."

"What? When?"

"Now."

"Like right now?"

"Yes."

"Where are you? Are you ok? Did he hurt you?" Derek's unconcealed worry shouldn't have felt as good as it did. Not that it stopped Stiles from his rant.

"I'm fine. He is as good at kidnapping as he is at flogging. Frankly, I am embarrassed to have such an incompetent stalker. I mean, shouldn't you prepare for such a thing? There are so many different, more effective, ways to do this and he-"

" _Stiles!"_ Derek cut him off impatiently. "What happened?"

Stiles took a breath. Why was he rambling so much? "Well he jumped me and tried to knock me out with chloroform or something similar, but then he tripped and ran away." It sounded so trivial, now that he said it. Almost not worth all the drama, the pounding heart, and the queasy feeling that wouldn't go away.

" _Shit_ ," Derek cursed, apparently not finding it trivial at all. "Where are you?"

"At the hotel."

"Here?"

"No, I'm at the site."

"Why are you there when you are supposed to be here?"

"I just needed to fetch something… Why the fuck should I be explaining myself to you?!"

Ok, that came out of nowhere. Stiles wondered if he could plead temporary insanity or maybe it was the lingering chloroform fumes that made him act so defensive. It's not like Derek was implying that it was his fault for being at the wrong place at the wrong time, right? Though the thought certainly crossed Stiles' mind - that he somehow fucked up and brought this on himself.

Derek must have been just as stunned by this sudden outburst because he didn't even say anything. And when he did, he wasn't addressing Stiles. "No, Erica, not now… well, I can't right now… then cancel it, I'm busy!"

"Whoa, what are you doing? Don't cancel anything!"

"But-"

"I didn't call you to ask for your help!" Now Stiles just sounded panicky. The idea of Derek dropping everything to be his knight in shining armor was too romantic for the casual relationship he was trying to maintain between them. "I just called you to inform you that I won't be coming today cause I need to go to the police station to report the incident. So you go do your things, no need to change your plans for me."

"Well, I could-"

"Bye Derek." He hung up before Derek managed to squeeze in another word.

Rude. He will probably need to apologize for that later, but right now he had other, more pressing matters.

* * *

xxx

Stiles was under no illusion that the police would be able to do anything. After all, he was the son of a sheriff, he knew how things worked. And he had nothing on the guy. He hasn't actually seen him and 'roughly 5'9' and slightly overweight' was not exactly narrowing things down. The messages were from an endless string of new accounts created using proxy servers, so that was a dead end as well. Stiles even stopped reporting them, cause what's the point? There were no security cameras on the site and he still had no idea what was that car that might or might not have followed him a few weeks ago.

The officer didn't even have to say anything and Stiles knew it was all just a formality at this point. He was positive that he did the right thing by reporting it, and getting all his injuries documented for potential future litigation shall they ever catch the culprit. But he also knew that right now the police couldn't do jackshit about it. He was advised to be careful and avoid traveling alone, which was kind of a no brainer, but Stiles was polite enough not to point that out.

He spent several hours at the police station and by the time he was finally done, he felt numb and exhausted. It didn't dawn on him till he got in the car and pulled into the Manhattan traffic. The prickly feeling of being watched was back and Stiles groaned, slapping the steering wheel in frustration.

He hated this. Hated feeling so powerless and vulnerable - which was a first. As a submissive, he quite enjoyed that feeling - except feeling powerless and vulnerable at the hands of a strong trustworthy Dominant was different from having the rug pulled from under his feet by a crazy stalker.

That's why an hour later Stiles found himself standing in front of Derek's apartment door, a stack of papers in his hands ready as a perfect excuse for the late-night visit. His palms were sweating and he felt ridiculous just standing there afraid to press the doorbell. He triple-checked the address Erica gave him and there was no doubt that he was at the correct place. A fancy place too, on the Upper East Side, top floor and everything. General managers apparently made a fortune.

_Pull yourself together, Stilinski._

With a slow exhale, Stiles pressed the doorbell and waited. At first, there were no sounds coming from behind the door. Maybe Derek wasn't home? Maybe he was at TRZ? But then he heard the approaching footsteps and had a split second freakout at the possibility of a random submissive opening the door, naked with whip marks and a ball-gag in his mouth.

Thankfully, that was not the case.

"Stiles?"

It was Derek, wearing a loose grey t-shirt and cotton slacks. Such a homey attire. His hair was messed up, with bits and pieces sticking in all (surely unintended) directions, but it didn't take anything from his attractiveness. Stiles got used to Derek's good looks and rarely paid attention to them anymore, but sometimes he would still get caught off guard. Like now.

"Uhm. Hi. Erica told me where to find you. I brought these." He handed Derek the files they were supposed to go through at the meeting today.

Derek glanced at them and let out a soft chuckle. "Only 6 hours late."

"Well, I'm sorry that me getting assaulted interfered with your plans for the day."

Great. He was here barely a minute and he was already blowing it. This came out as snide as it possibly could and Stiles felt like an ass once again. He let out a frustrated breath and watched Derek do the same.

"You wanna come in?"

Of course he wanted to come in. Why on Earth would he otherwise come all the way here pretending that those papers couldn't wait till tomorrow. "No, I-"

"Yeah you do," Derek cut him off, pulling him inside by the arm and closing the door behind him.

"Well, I guess I could use a drink," Stiles conceded. There was no point in protesting and putting up a false front when it was clear to both of them that Stiles didn't come here for work.

"Sit." Derek pointed at the sofa, forgoing the pleasantries. It was kinda funny how easily he slipt into Dom-mode when they were alone like this. "Scotch?"

"Yeah. Sure. Why not," Stiles nodded, glancing around. The loft was spacious and expensive-looking. Dark leather combined with light wood and abstract art covering the walls all pointed at the designer's touch, while tidy surfaces and overall cleanness signaled that Derek was either pedantic to a fault, or he had professional help. Probably the latter. Stiles wondered if there was a dedicated service submissives brigade Derek would invite over on a daily basis to keep the place spotless. He kept subconsciously looking for any sign of kink but unsurprisingly, Derek's living room was not filled with whips and St. Andrew's crosses.

"Have you eaten?" Derek asked as he handed him the drink.

Stiles lazily turned the glass in his hand watching the brownish liquid pour through the ice cubes and then took a sip, grimacing at the burn and the malty taste. "Not really."

"I have some leftover lasagna." It wasn't phrased as a question, but it was one nonetheless.

Stiles wasn't really hungry, but he figured drinking on an empty stomach was not wise. "Ok."

"Good boy," Derek said, disappearing into the kitchen. Stiles wanted to point out that agreeing to eat Derek's leftovers was not exactly a praiseworthy deed, but the flush of pleasure he felt at hearing those two simple words tied his tongue.

Derek didn't force the conversation. Much like when he brought Stiles home after the Brooklyn-9 incident, he let Stiles decide if he wanted to talk about it or not. Stiles did. He told Derek about the messages, about the car following him, and subsequent paranoia that lasted weeks and culminated in an actual assault when Stiles least expected it.

"I finally got rid of this horrible feeling, like I was constantly being watched and now it is back again and I just... didn't want to be alone tonight." Stiles chewed on his bottom lip, stealing a sheepish glance at the Dom. "Pretty pathetic, huh?"

"No," Derek said firmly. "And you really ought to stop using that word."

_Or what?_

And how tempting such a retort would be… but Stiles was not bold enough to take that route. He had no doubt that Derek would take the bait and issue a delicious spanking threat that would feed Stiles's fantasies for the next couple of days, but he didn't come here to throw his principles out the window. And he would be the biggest hypocrite to taunt Derek after all the times he scolded him for breaching the boundaries.

"So what now?" Derek asked, refilling yet another glass with scotch.

"Now nothing. There's hope that he will get scared after his botched attempt and leave me alone... No, don't give me that look, I don't expect him to, either."

"You should get a bodyguard."

"Right," Stiles snorted, "I'll call Kevin Costner if he is interested in the gig."

Derek frowned. Stiles saw that reference materialize and fly over his head. He was getting drunk. And Derek wasn't joking.

"Derek, I can't possibly afford a bodyguard!"

"Then you should move in with somebody."

Stiles let out a sad chuckle. "Uh-huh." That was obviously not happening. He watched Derek glance towards his bedroom and knew where this was going even before he said anything.

"You could-"

" _No."_

"I have a spare bedroom. If you need a place to stay, I don't mind."

" _Derek_. That's a generous offer, but no. I'm not ready to join the SS brigade."

"The _what_?"

Stiles didn't even realize that SS stood for Schutzstaffel and not 'service submissives' but he was too tipsy to bother explaining his thought process. "Nevermind. Thanks but I'll be fine. I didn't come here to seek shelter, I came for the booze." He clanked the glass against the table in an extravagant gesture demanding a refill.

Derek pushed Stiles's untouched glass of water closer to him. "Finish this, then you can have more whisky."

"Sooo bossyyy."

Derek smirked. "You haven't seen anything yet. Bottoms up, champ."

* * *

xxx

Stiles woke up with a slight headache and a nagging feeling that something was off. That proved to be self-explanatory when he opened his eyes and didn't recognize his surroundings. It took him a moment to remember where he was and how he got here.

He and Derek definitely finished one bottle and then even opened a second one. After that things were a bit blurry. He remembered complaining about the recent Yankees' loss and his drunken attempts to explain the importance of the recent detection of the gravitational waves. What he _didn't_ remember was going to bed. At all. Which meant that he probably passed out from drinking. Yikes.

A quick glance under the sheets told him that he was wearing his boxers and nothing else, so Derek must have not only put him to bed but also _undressed_ him. Jesus, was he really so out of it yesterday? And why was his dick taking a sudden interest in the idea?

He looked around the room. It was done in the same style as the rest of the apartment, spacious, neat, and tidy. Perhaps a bit cold and impersonal, but far be it for Stiles to criticize Derek's living arrangements when he was nice enough to provide Stiles with a room and a comfy bed, whereas Stiles left Derek to spend the night on his awful sofa covered by his bathrobe.

His clothes were folded neatly on the chair and smelled suspiciously fresh. Like somebody washed them. Damn, did the SS brigade already come and took care of it? That thought stopped bothering him as soon as he saw the time and had a mini heart attack. It was 10-fucking-am!

Stiles almost fell off the bed as he tried to put his socks, trousers, and shirt on, all at the same time. How could he oversleep so badly? And where was Derek? Didn't he have work too?

"Derek?!" he yelled, bursting out of the room as if it was on fire. "Derek!"

He heard the sounds of the TV and something cooking coming from the kitchen and stomped there in fury, buttoning his shirt on the way.

"What the hell, Derek?! Why didn't you wake me?! Did you see what time it is?! I'm so fucking late!"

"Good morning to you too, Stiles," Derek greeted him with an amused expression, as he continued stirring the scrambled eggs on the pan. _Dick!_ That was just like him to ignore Stiles's entirely legit complaints and act as if nothing was going on.

Stiles then realized that he buttoned his shirt one button askew and will now have to redo the whole thing. " _FUCK!"_ It might have been a minor thing but for some reason it made Stiles want to pull his hair out and Derek's subsequent laughter didn't help it much either.

"Help yourself to some coffee."

"I don't want your fucking coffee! I'm late!" Stiles snapped as he bounced around the living room like a ball in a Pong game. "Have you seen my jacket?"

"Calm down, Stiles, it's ok. Sit down and have some-"

"It's most certainly NOT ok! I need to get to work! Preferably two hours ago!" He tried to remember what was on the agenda this morning, but his hangover brain was not cooperating.

"Well, nothing you can do about it now, so might as well eat before you go." Derek's attitude was so infuriating! Of course, living like this he probably never experienced the common struggles of the working class.

"I knew I shouldn't have come here. Where did you say my jacket was?"

" _Stiles!"_ Derek's patience must have run out because his amused expression was replaced with a frown as he whipped around and pointed the wooden spoon at him. "I swear if you don't sit your butt down _right now_ I'll show you what else I can do with this spatula!"

Blood rushed to Stiles's face in a mix of arousal, embarrassment, and indignation. There were two possible courses of action he could take - both equally tempting - either storm out of the door, slamming it properly behind him, or sit his butt on the chair as Derek told him to. Well technically, there was the third option - not to do anything and see if the Dom would follow up on his threat, but frankly, Stiles was not ballsy enough to opt for that, so he sat down.

Derek didn't acknowledge Stiles's surrender and simply turned back to the stove.

Submitting to Derek did absolutely nothing to help Stiles's agitation though. "I obeyed you, shouldn't you praise me?" he snapped with as much venom as he could muster.

"You're being a brat, you don't deserve any praise," Derek replied casually, not even bothering to turn around and look at him.

The rebuke was rather mild but Stiles still felt stung by it. Despite his continuous wrangle against being dommed, he didn't actually like it when Derek was displeased with him. Especially when he wasn't even trying to be a brat.

"Are you pouting?" Derek asked after a minute. His mildly amused tone and the fact that he was still facing away was pissing Stiles off.

"You wish," he grumbled, basically proving him right.

Derek didn't comment and Stiles felt like a child. His freakout over being late was probably a tad overdramatic, but it wasn't ungrounded. And he wanted Derek to understand that.

"Look, you might not be able to relate, but I cannot just not show up to work. I have bills to pay, I don't have the luxury to be flippant. I mean, sure, people can oversleep, but when they do, they don't just sit around waiting to have a nurturing breakfast, they get their asses to the office and prepare some lame-ass excuse."

Derek finally turned away from the stove to look at him. "Well, it's a good thing then that you won't need a lame-ass excuse because you are having a business breakfast with your client to discuss the filtration system options." He pointed at the stack of papers Stiles brought over yesterday and managed to forget all about overnight.

"Oh."

"Oh, indeed," Derek replied with far less sarcasm than he could have. "Now as much as I enjoy your sulky demeanor I need you back in your work mindset for this, cause I have some questions."

If Stiles wasn't blushing before, he sure as hell was now. "Yeah, uhm, right. Sure, sorry." Shit. When will he stop making a fool of himself?

"That's better. Coffee?"

"Yes, please," Stiles muttered, keeping his gaze downcast in embarrassment. Derek filled his cup and then placed two plates with deliciously smelling eggs on the table. There was bacon, cheese, tomatoes, and something green mixed in, and even though Stiles was not big on the last two, it tasted surprisingly well. The polite thing would be to compliment Derek on his cooking and thank him for his hospitality, but Stiles was still smarting from his censure, so adulting will have to wait till he got over it.

"Stiles?"

"Hm?"

"Look at me."

_Shit._

"I'm glad you came over. And not just because I enjoy your company but because it was the right thing to do. I know you already said no but if you ever feel unsafe or change your mind, my offer still stands."

Stiles managed an awkward smile and a tiny nod. How did Derek do it to make him feel chastised, embarrassed, and reassured at the same time? And why did he like it so much? And how was he gonna protect his heart going forward if his first instinct seems to be to run to him for help?

He cleared his throat and grabbed the file, summoning his business persona. Now was not the time for self-exploration. As usual, he will leave all those thoughts and conflicted feelings tucked away for later. And when "later" came he would casually pretend they never existed. So far this worked just fine for him.


	8. Trouble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you for all the lovely feedback you are showing this story. I probably don't say this enough, but your comments make my day=)

The following days were oddly peaceful. There were no attacks, no weird cars following Stiles around, or suspicious people lurking in the shadows. Even online bullying came to an abrupt halt. Perhaps the guy really scared himself with his botched attempt at kidnapping. That or he was just waiting for Stiles to let his guard down.

Stiles was not going to. He installed a security lock on the door, made sure to always go to the construction site when there were still workers around, and got himself a baseball bat. He probably should have just gotten a firearm. But that would force him to acknowledge the gravity of the situation. It was easier to pretend like it was no big deal and the guy was just some immature punk when you had a baseball bat in the trunk of your car than a Glock tucked under your belt.

Derek called almost every day. He always had something work-related to ask, but Stiles knew he was just checking on him. It was sweet and Stiles didn't mind, so he never called him out on it. Besides, telling others about having a stalker was one of the security measures. The one that Stiles largely neglected. He barely knew his neighbors, he didn't want to tell his landlord, afraid that he would be kicked out, and he didn't tell at work cause it was simply embarrassing. He didn't hide his sexual orientation, but neither did he broadcast it. Having a kinky asshole follow you around to get in your pants and do vile things to you was not exactly a career boost. And obviously, he had no intention to needlessly worry his dad. So having Derek in the know and checking on him was a good thing.

Besides, Stiles craved that attention. He found himself in Derek's office several times for things that could have been dealt with over the phone. Derek was always nicer to him in person, so that's the excuse Stiles went with to justify it to himself.

"You can go in, he is expecting you," Erica greeted him sweetly. They have built a rapport of quoting movies and shows at each other - something that never failed to produce a snort from Derek.

Stiles shook his head, grinning. "Nah. I am the one who knocks," he said, wondering if she will get this one.

She did. "Are you sure, you're gay? Cause I think I'm in love."

"Back off, Reyes! I saw him first!" came Derek's voice from behind the door. Stiles and Erica shared an amused look before Stiles entered the office.

It was not the first time Derek would say something like this. Usually, it came in the form of Derek making offers (or threats) to scene with Stiles and Stiles turning him down, but sometimes Derek acted as if it wasn't just about BDSM, or it didn't have to be. Stiles always treated those proclamations as Derek just fucking with him. It felt safer than entertaining the possibility that Derek really wanted more. Not that Stiles never thought about it. But he always came to a conclusion that Derek just wasn't used to being rejected and as soon as he got Stiles under his thumb, he would gradually lose interest in him. Stiles would be just another sub on Derek's neverending list of willing play partners. And it's not like there was anything wrong with that approach. (After all, Stiles practiced the same one.) It's just that it wasn't worth complicating things and risking your career over.

As usual, Derek barely waited for Stiles to finish work-related stuff before changing the subject to his favorite topic. "Are you coming to The Red Zone tomorrow?"

Stiles shook his head with an exasperated sigh. It didn't matter how many times he told the Dom not to bring up the kink in the office. Derek was incorrigible.

"Derek, do you see this?" Stiles lifted his tie and waved it in front of his face. "This is a tie. It means this is a _workplace_ and I'm in a _work_ mode."

In one swift motion, Derek caught the tail end of the tie and pulled, making Stiles stumble forward. Before he managed to catch his footing Derek already undid his tie and was demonstratively wrapping it around his fist. "Are you coming to TRZ tomorrow?" he repeated smugly.

Stiles just rolled his eyes at Derek's brazen demeanor. Now he was _undressing_ him in the office too. Just another line for Derek to cross. "Why?"

"You might enjoy what I have on the agenda."

"I'm not playing with you, Derek." Seriously, how many times will Stiles have to repeat that before Derek stopped asking? And every time he turned him down he was less and less sure about his decision.

"Who said anything about you?" Derek scoffed. "Stop being so full of yourself."

Stiles opened his mouth gasping for air. "ME?!"

Oh, the nerve!

"Yes you," Derek said, wearing that shit-eating grin of his, that Stiles developed a personal love-hate relationship with. "I'll see you tomorrow then, champ."

"Wait, my tie."

"Tomorrow."

* * *

xxx

Stiles did find his tie the next day. On Lydia. As Derek led her to the public play area using it as a leash. Lydia was wearing her Domme leather overall so the fact that she was not in charge was a bit confusing. The white watch on her wrist indicated that she was Derek's +1 for the night and Stiles wasn't sure how he felt about it. Not jealous per se… perhaps curious and not a little intrigued.

The scene understandably drew attention. First, because it was Derek and he always got a crowd of onlookers, and second because they were soon joined by Chase. Two hot guys dominating a hot girl was quite a crowd-pleaser. Plus the three of them were giving off Charlie's Angels vibes - a dark-haired brooding type, a playful blond one, and a foxy redhead.

When Derek started the scene by reading Lydia a riot act on failing her duties as a Domme, Stiles understood where this was going and why Derek thought it might be of interest to him. Derek didn't go into details, so no one but Stiles knew what this was about. His rhetoric was not far from the one he gave her at Starbucks, but his phrasing left no doubt that it was all a scene (if only by a sheer amount of trigger words that got the submissive part of the audience all blushy). In the end, Lydia was declared to be just a 'naughty little girl' and not fit to wear her Domme outfit. Then to pay her penance, she was stripped naked and put on her knees as the two continued to tower over her and berate her.

If Stiles didn't know how much Lydia was getting off on public humiliation, he might have felt uncomfortable for being an indirect part of it. But however one looked at it, this was hot. The double attention of two Doms was a big turn on in general and Derek + Chase was a combo not many subs would ever turn down. Lydia was certainly one lucky girl.

Her flushed cheeks were matching her hair color and she couldn't have looked more beautiful. Stiles usually preferred her as a Domme, but he had to admit that submission suited her greatly as well. He wasn't even surprised when Derek shackled her to St Andrew's cross, blindfolded her with Stiles's tie, and grabbed a light flogger. Chase got one as well and they went on warming Lydia's skin from two sides in perfect synergy, accompanied by her 'ohs' and 'ahs'.

Those were not sounds of pain. At least not yet. But Derek promised her punishment, so harsher play was definitely in store. Stiles was looking forward to it. Not because he was mad at her, or anything. He had long since forgiven Lydia for leaving that night and harbored no ill feelings toward her, but watching her pay the piper in a way that was enjoyable for all the parties involved, was deeply satisfying nonetheless.

After getting her butt, thighs, and back into a nice rosy shade of pink, Derek took out the leather beast she used on Stiles in B-9. He cast Stiles a meaningful glance and Stiles couldn't help chuckling.

_Oh yes, I get it, this is all "for me", you're a fucking knight in shining armor;))_

He hit sent and watched Derek read the message on his watch. The Dom snorted and then wiggled his finger at him, mouthing a word that Stiles lip-read as "behave".

As it turned out Lydia was pants when it came to handling pain. She could dish out way more than she could take, so once Derek unleashed the heavy flogger on her, her screams disproportionally raised in volume. Not that it stopped Derek or got any sympathy from Chase.

"Damn girl, now I get why they call you a banshee," he joked, petting her hair, as Derek laid on another harsh stroke. Stiles was not nearly as sadistic as the two, so his own mirth was rather quickly overshadowed by his empathy. He wasn't worried, because he knew it was all pre-negotiated beforehand and Lydia was experienced enough to stop things if it got too much for her. Though he doubted Derek would let it go that far.

He was proven right when after a couple more blows Derek put the flogger aside and ran a soothing hand over her punished skin. Lydia's labored breathing changed into mewls of pleasure as she melted into his gentle touch and Stiles was hit with a stab of jealousy, as he did whenever he watched Derek show his tender side to anyone other than Stiles. He didn't use to be like this. And as much as Stiles appreciated this particular change, it was something he couldn't bring himself to watch. Even sexual dominance that was often part of Derek's scenes was not as hard a pill to swallow as the aftercare.

Chase untied her from the cross and Lydia graciously sunk bank to her knees, hissing softly as her butt hit the heels of her feet. He praised her for taking her punishment well and then "allowed" her to show her appreciation, which was a pretty cheesy way of soliciting a blowjob, but if Stiles had to name one cock-eager submissive out there, it would be Lydia. She treated Chase's dick as if it was the most amazing thing in the world, practically making love to it with her tongue. She went as far as to even talk to it, much to the general amusement of the audience and Chase's pleasure.

Derek decided that she was having too easy a job with it, so he took both of her hands and held them behind her back to take some power away from her. Chase seemed to be in agreement, and after another minute told her that she had had her fun and now it was time for him to use her mouth as he saw fit. He grabbed her by the hair and thrust in, setting the pace himself and fucking her mouth rather roughly. Not that Lydia complained.

To kick it up a notch, Derek took out a Hitachi wand and placed it between her legs. Lydia's surprised scream was muffled by Chase's cock still in her mouth. The Dom let her catch her breath and get accustomed to the new type of stimulation. But not for long. Lydia tried to press her thighs together to prevent Derek the access, which was of course an entirely futile attempt on her part.

"Oh no, little girl, you are not in charge here," he chuckled, slapping her thighs apart and placing the head of the wand directly at her clit. At least that's what Stiles thought he did because Lydia's protesting "Noo" sounded suspiciously like a "Yes please". But of course Derek was too much of a sadist to let her come this easily, so once she seemed to be getting close, he took the wand away. Her groan of disapproval only confirmed that Derek read her body response correctly.

"Hmm, someone's mad," he teased.

Chase pulled out of Lydia's mouth and tilted her chin up to look at him. "Are you angry, sweetheart?"

Lydia was not stupid, she had asked that very question many frustrated subs herself and knew quite well which response was more likely to get her the release she craved. "No, Sir."

"Good girl."

Derek proceeded to edge her all the way through, which ended up being a torturously long time. Chase had the perseverance of a porn actor, with how long it took him to finally come. As Stiles predicted, Lydia was granted her release no sooner than her "job" was done. Derek timed it perfectly just a second before Chase emptied his balls down her throat. Stiles wasn't sure whether it dampened or enhanced her orgasm. He personally wouldn't have been a fan but Lydia seemed quite satisfied and adorably droopy afterward.

"So, is that Derek's uh, girlfriend? Submissive?"

Stiles turned around to see Peter sitting on the barstool behind him.

"No, I daresay, she is not," Stiles replied with a chuckle. "Lydia is a Switch and I'm pretty sure that's the first time she is playing with Derek."

"Playing, huh. That what you call it?"

"Playing, scening, yeah." Stiles glanced back at the play area, where Derek wrapped Lydia in a blanket and was quietly talking to her, while Chase was tidying away the toys they used and wiping down the equipment. "Is it weird, watching your nephew... like _that_?"

"A bit. Not nearly as weird as I expected," Peter shrugged. "What's a Switch?"

"Switch is somebody who enjoys both roles - Dominant and Submissive. Lydia usually plays as a Domme but from time to time she lets her submissive side out."

"Is Derek a Switch too?"

"Not to my knowledge, no."

"And you?"

"I'm a sub through and through."

"And the two of you are…?"

"Just friends," Stiles supplied readily.

Peter narrowed his eyes. "Really?"

Stiles just smiled at him nodding, as he got up to go fetch his tie and check on his friend.

Lydia was sitting on one of the sofas sipping on what Stiles guessed was an orange juice. She was still wrapped in a blanket but didn't look to be deep in subspace or anything. At seeing Stiles her face stretched into a mischievous grin.

"Hello, stranger," she greeted him.

"Hello, Ma'am, or is it 'naughty little girl' now?" Stiles teased, taking a seat next to her and planting a kiss on her cheek. "I guess I can have my tie back now."

"You don't mind, right? I really wanted to play with him and this seemed like a perfect scenario-"

"It's fine, Lydia, really," he quickly reassured her. And he wasn't lying. They didn't breach any kind of moral code. They didn't force his participation or disclosed his involvement. The scene itself was pretty cool and hot to watch. And the fact that Lydia picked Stiles's regular play partner and his uhm… whatever Derek was to him, to top her was also not any kind of taboo or anything.

"Will you introduce me to your lovely friend?"

Stiles didn't realize that Peter had followed him. He assumed that when Peter asked about Lydia he was interested in learning more about Derek, but watching him now… the way he looked at her suggested that Stiles might have gotten it all wrong. "Peter, this is Lydia. Lydia this is Peter, he is-"

"Oh God, what the _hell_ are you doing here again?!"

"Hello, Derek," Peter said cheerfully, waving at his unamused nephew. "I'm just hanging out."

"Hanging out?! You promised you won't be coming here!" Derek seethed through gritted teeth. Stiles figured that Derek was not nearly as comfortable with his uncle being in the club as Peter seemed to be.

"I did?" Peter scoffed with mock innocence. "I think I would have remembered that."

"Great! Just great." Derek threw his hands in the air. "Well, Stiles at least you are not the only one with a stalker now."

"You have a stalker?" Lydia asked him, surprised.

Stiles cast Derek an annoyed look, but Derek was clearly too irritated to care that he blurted something Stiles considered to be private.

"Oh don't be so dramatic. It doesn't become you," Peter scoffed and Stiles could tell that Derek was visibly restraining himself. "And I believe you promised to call your mother, which you also didn't do. So as far as I'm concerned, we're even."

Lydia leaned closer to Stiles. "What am I missing?"

"Peter is Derek's uncle," Stiles explained. He was curious what the deal between them was, but he didn't want to pry, since Derek himself never did. (But then again he didn't have to, since Stiles seemed to lose control over his tongue whenever Derek was around and tell him everything anyway.)

Lydia's eyes lit up with excitement. "Wooo, runs in the family, huh? Kinky! So what are you, Peter?"

"A complete novice." Peter raised his palms up with a grin. "But very interested in learning the ropes with _the right teacher_."

"Oh, God!" Derek groaned, before stalking away.

Stiles couldn't say he blamed him. If he did a public scene and then found his dad sitting in the audience, he would have been pretty mortified too. And if then his dad proceeded to flirt with Stiles's play partner, he would probably have the same reaction.

Lydia didn't seem bothered by the family connection at all, giving Peter a curious once-over. But that was Lydia to you, sexual freedom was her credo. Stiles considered asking Peter about his relationship with Derek but then saw that he missed his window since the two were already too busy eye-fucking each other.

Well, perhaps another time.

* * *

xxx

Stiles was in the middle of doing the paperwork he had been postponing forever in favor of more pressing matters (and also because it was his least favorite task) when his phone rang.

"Hi, Der-"

"Stilinski! Get your ass in here!" Derek cut him off with an angry snarl, which caught Stiles off guard.

Well, that was a first. Sure, Derek had been clipped with him before, but this went beyond that, and Stiles sensed that there must have been some major fuck up.

"Uhm, you mean to the site?" he clarified.

"Yes."

Stiles glanced at the stack of papers begging to be processed and grimaced. "Uh, look, I have something-"

"NOW!" Derek barked and the line went dead.

Stiles didn't like this attitude one bit. He was not Derek's employee to be treated like this. But as much as he wanted to just ignore the call and go back to his business, the nagging feeling wouldn't let him get any work done, anyway. So with a deep sigh, he grabbed his things and made his way to the site to see what got Derek so upset.

***

At the first glance, everything was just as it looked two days ago when Stiles last visited the site. There were quite a lot of workers scattered throughout various floors, though most of them were focused on the roof adjusting the top level foundation to support the pool. Those in the lobby were having a lunch break, and their cheerful voices contrasted sharply with the murderous glare Derek had greeted him with.

"What is it?" Stiles asked, trying to pinpoint the cause for Derek's obvious anger.

"What the fuck is this?" Derek asked, pointing around himself.

Stiles looked around in confusion, still not finding anything amiss. "What do you mean?"

"Exactly what I said. What _is_ this?!"

"The lobby?"

"THIS is the lobby? This?!" The look he was giving Stiles was very unnerving. And not the good kind. "Where the FUCK is the rest of it?!"

Stiles frowned. "What do you mean? I told you we had to reduce it for the garage spaces since the portion of the underground parking got canceled." He did tell him, right? _Right?!_

"And who on earth signed off on reducing a LOBBY for a few parking spaces?!" Derek barked, his voice raising in volume and attracting the attention of people around.

"You did." Stiles was surprised how confident he sounded, given how queasy he felt on the inside.

Derek stared at him and Stiles half expected for steam to start coming out of his ears. "That's the stupidest thing I have heard in my life!"

Stiles tried not to take this personally, but it was hard not to. It wasn't even that big a change. "We've talked about this! I sent you the correction plan like three weeks ago!"

"And have I approved it?"

"What do you mean? Of course you did." Did he though? Truth was, Stiles didn't remember ever having this conversation at all. There has been so much stuff going on lately… But surely he wouldn't go on with something like this without getting a green light for it, right? So Stiles just assumed that Derek must have approved it. Though watching Derek's expression Stiles had a hard time practicing this self-delusion.

"Show me!"

Stiles browsed his phone and after a minute found the email buried deep in the correspondence. "Here it is." He gave Derek the phone to see for himself.

The Dom read the email, his firm features not softening one bit. "This is _your_ email," he said, returning the phone and folding his arms on his chest. "Where is _my_ response approving this shit?"

Again Stiles tried not to let the harsh words get to him as he went through the emails over and over searching for Derek's reply. He wiped his forehead from the droplets of sweat that started condensing there because… there was no response. There wasn't even a confirmation that the email was read.

"You don't reply to like 90% of my emails," he tried defensively. "And I have been busting my ass because you suddenly decided to move the pool, remember?" Stiles almost cringed at his own cheap attempt at diversion. 

And unsurprisingly, Derek wasn't swayed by it. "So you went on thinking you don't actually need to consult me on this?" he growled, getting right in Stiles's face. "Maybe this is your hotel? Your money?"

"Are you daft?! You think that I made it up?" Stiles snapped back, finally losing his composure. "You must have approved it by phone, or on messenger or whatever. If your memory is shit, that's not my problem!"

Derek's glare turned icy. Stiles recognized that look. The one that promised a lot of pain for the submissive that dared to displease his Master. Stiles would like to say that it didn't work on him, except it did. It made him want to curl up in a ball and cry in the corner, as well as regret his brazen attitude and his piss-poor attempts to bluff his way out of this.

"Watch your fucking tone," Derek hissed.

Stiles' face grew hot. And not just because there was an audience, but because he realized that Derek was right. He would have never allowed himself to act this way towards any other client. And the truth was, whatever happened was ultimately on Stiles, because it was _his_ responsibility to double, triple, fucking _quadruple_ check to make sure everything was going according to his client's wishes. And since he obviously didn't… he fucked up. And damn, that didn't feel good.

"Well, there must have been some kind of miscommunication," he said, keeping his tone much more polite this time.

"It doesn't matter anymore. I want my lobby back to its original size."

"Uhm.. ok," Stiles cleared his throat, gathering back the remnants of his professionalism. "I'll send you the new calculation and we will have to adjust the deadline - "

"No," Derek cut him off. "We're not paying for your mistakes. No extra budget, no extra time."

_Shit._

"Look, the electricians are coming already on Friday and -"

"Move them."

"I can't! Not on such short notice and not at this price. I booked it two months ago! The next appointment could be 3 weeks from now. And then it's the insulation and the drywall and the painting and everything will have to be postponed..." Stiles rubbed his forehead with a grimace as his carefully calculated schedule just came crashing down like a house of cards.

"Then I suggest you fix it by Friday," Derek said, not showing any sympathy to his plight.

"Yeah, and solve global warming while I'm at it," Stiles grumbled under his nose.

"I don't care how you do it, Stilinski. Just get it done." With that Derek turned on his heel and stormed out, leaving Stiles with his head in his hands and zero idea what to do about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slowly getting to the fun stuff;))


	9. Dick

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter, but the next one will make up for it (and it is almost done too).  
> I hope you'll still enjoy it=)

Stiles spent around 10 minutes just sitting there and feeling sorry for himself before realizing that wallowing in self-pity was not gonna get him anywhere. Derek gave him a clear task - to get shit done - and as doom and gloom as he felt right now, he knew that first, he should check just how bad the situation really was. After that, there will be plenty of time to despair.

In his experience, things were often quite not as bad as they originally seemed. In fact, stuff like this happened all the time, just on a lower level. That's why Stiles spent so much time on the site making sure everything was being done according to his instructions, because the sooner one caught the problem, the easier it was to solve it.

The difference now was that it was not a simple lack of supervision, but the instructions themselves were wrong and Stiles was the one to blame. But when it came to problem-solving - it didn't really matter much who was at fault. You just had to push the deadlines, butter up a few people, switch stuff around, etc. Nothing that Stiles wouldn't see his ex-boss Michael do time and time again in the past. Besides, with a measure of foresight, Stiles left himself some legroom both in terms of money and time, so now he just needed to stretch it a bit more, pull in a few favors… and maybe it could just work out.

As much as he hated Derek right now, he knew that Derek actually did him a favor by bringing it up with him and not going directly to Deaton, as many others would have. This allowed Stiles to at least attempt to solve the problem before coming clean to his boss about it. And if he ended up losing his job over this... well, at least he would know that he did everything he could.

It was ironic, that for all his effort to keep his distance and maintain a professional attitude towards Derek, he still somehow managed to fuck up and jeopardize his job. So what was the point in denying himself scening with the alluring Dom, if he kept aiming to please and was ready to fall apart when Derek got disappointed in him all the same?

***

As it turned out, Stiles was in no position to be pulling in any favors. That didn't mean that no one in the company was willing to help. It just came with a price. And seeing the state of despair which Stiles was unable to hide, the price was often disproportionate to the favor he asked. Well, he shouldn't be surprised, as he didn't really manage to make many friends at work. It was a competitive environment that didn't promote building real friendships. Stiles wasn't sure if it was just an Implex thing, a New York thing, or an industry thing, but he simply disliked all the opportunistic sharks around him and didn't feel particularly inclined to engage in the calculated quid pro quo office behavior.

Now he had no choice.

He whored himself, taking over hordes of unpopular paperwork just to borrow a couple of extra workers from the other projects for a few days. He pushed the electricians to Monday, giving himself a buffer, even though the extra workforce and the fact that some portions could be done simultaneously already gave him a lot of breathing room. Frankly, Stiles had more work to do to pay for all the favors than on his own project. He oscillated between site and office, paying his dues to the sharks in the office and catering to the needs of the workers who agreed to work overtime for some additional monetary and "free meals" incentives. Stiles was surprised how easy it was to persuade the blue collars. In fact, many of those who overheard his dressing down felt kinda sorry for him and were ready to pull a few extra hours for free even. As opposed to those douchebags in the office using the opportunity to milk him dry.

Derek called in the evening as usual. Stiles was too busy and only noticed the missed call a few hours later. He figured that Derek must have been just checking on him like he always had around that time because if it was work-related there would have been more than one missed call and probably a message or two regarding the problem. Since it was not the case, Stiles didn't feel pressed to call back. And if it sent a clear message that Stiles was sulking... well, so what?

He realized that it made him kind of a hypocrite since he kept asking Derek to treat him as a business relation when at work, and when Derek did exactly that, Stiles was suddenly butthurt about not being treated as something more. But he still felt absolutely justified to give Derek a cold shoulder after the way he yelled at him.

Stiles hasn't been home for 3 days straight. He dozed off for a few hours at the office here and there and otherwise worked like a machine. It was a lot, and he was exhausted, but it wasn't the first time and it probably won't be the last. He was so out of it, he completely forgot about the 20-year Implex anniversary party. He contemplated just not going, but that wouldn't bode well for his career since everyone was expected to show up at least for a few hours to prove their dedication to the company. Though he should probably shave first… and take a shower. One of his colleagues told him she could smell him all the way from the other room. She was joking of course, but there was a grain of truth to it, so Stiles decided to take a break and went home to freshen up.

***

The party was held in one of the Midtown hotels that Implex built a few years back and it was quite a grand affair. Stiles was glad that he opted for a bowtie and a black suit since the event was as posh as they got. The shower certainly helped with getting some color into his face, he even used a bit of make-up to cover the dark circles under his eyes, but his bloodshot eyes were still giving away the severe lack of sleep.

The plan was to greet as many people as possible, eat some canapes and go back to the office. He didn't know most of the faces and the first two he had recognized he didn't particularly feel like joining… unfortunately they saw him too, so now there was no escape.

"Stiles! There you are. Come here," Deaton beckoned him over. Stiles put on his polite face and went to greet his boss, who was currently talking to - you guessed it - Derek.

"Mieczysław," Derek smirked at him and Stiles nearly snorted in response.

"Mr. Hale," he replied coldly.

Deaton didn't notice anything off about their greeting. "Derek has just been telling me how satisfied he is with your work," Deaton said cheerfully, patting Stiles on the back. He was holding a glass of wine and already seemed quite a bit tipsy. Which was good since Stiles had a hard time keeping a polite expression.

"Oh, did he," he deadpanned, his voice laced with sarcasm.

"Yes," Derek confirmed, ignoring Stiles as he kept crying him up to his boss, "I was particularly impressed with his problem-solving abilities when given the right nudge. I've just been to check on the site today and everything is going great."

Stiles wanted to punch him. _Fucking sweet talker. The right nudge?_ _Pat yourself on the back some more, asshole._ He forced a smile to hide his building irritation. "I'm happy to hear you are satisfied with how things are progressing. Now if you'll excuse me." He nodded at them and made a hasty retreat to the bar.

It was a shame he came by car since he could really use a drink right now. Derek's fake praise rubbed him in the worst way possible. Though it was probably still better than if he told Deaton the truth. Stiles ordered himself a soda and nibbled some peanuts, thinking about all the places he would rather be right now. Namely, a bed.

"If you walked any faster I would think you were running away from me."

Of course it was foolish of Stiles to expect Derek to take a hint. The Dom planted himself on the barstool right next to him and cast him a playful look as if the fight between them never happened.

"I'm pretty sure only the _top_ management received invitations," Stiles jabbed. "Where's Finstock?"

Derek chuckled, not at all offended. "He is not the one dealing with your sorry ass."

Stiles bristled. "My sorry ass has been sleeping in the office for the past 3 days."

"Oh you poor thing, how dare anyone hold you responsible for your own fuckups."

_That condescending ass!_

Without a word, Stiles grabbed his drink and walked away. He wasn't sure what made him so butthurt, whether the lack of sleep, the overall exhaustion, Derek's derision, or the fact that deep down Stiles agreed with him.

He always believed that people should own up to their mistakes and do their best to amend them. In fact, if he could detach himself from the situation, he would have probably scoffed in the same way if somebody started complaining about the extra work that came about as a direct result of their own doing.

Still... it didn't make it any easier.

***

After an hour, Stiles figured that he had brown-nosed enough people and was now free to go. He went to check on some food, but as usual, anything of substance was first to vanish from the trays. He glared at the ugly, half-crumbled egg roll sitting there in complete loneliness, but since beggars couldn't be choosers, he scooped it on his plate, adding some leftover breadsticks and decorative vegetables, and went to find an empty table.

He was examining a couple of business cards he managed to exchange when a plate filled with meatballs, eggrolls, sandwiches, and a couple of cupcakes landed in front of him.

"Peace offering?" Derek smiled, sitting down next to him.

Stiles hid the business cards in his wallet and gave Derek a suspicious look. "Where did you get it?"

"Charmed a waitress," Derek replied, winking at somebody behind him. Stiles turned around and saw the young girl smiling shyly back at him.

"Of course you did." _Fucking womanizer._

"I like to make them flustered," Derek said as if reading Stiles's mind.

"I'm sure you do."

"Blush looks particularly good on you."

Stiles snorted, shaking his head. "You don't fluster me, Derek."

Derek didn't reply, though it was obvious he didn't agree. He pushed the plate closer to Stiles. "Eat. You look like you could use a proper meal. And some sleep."

 _In other words, I look like shit while you are sitting here all smug and handsome, flirting with the staff and charming everyone around you._ Stiles didn't voice any of his bitter thoughts. Instead, he eyed the food hungrily and then picked up the meatball on a stick since they smelled too good not to try. "I need to go back to work," he said in between bites.

Derek frowned. "Why? The situation seems handled already."

"Different work," Stiles replied curtly, keeping his eyes on the plate. He heard Derek sigh and slump on the chair, but still refused to look at him. He was aware that he was acting like a sulking teenager and that this was no way to behave towards one's clients, but he couldn't help himself, he _wanted_ Derek to feel his anger.

"Look, I appreciate you going far and beyond for this, but you shouldn't be doing it at the expense of your wellbeing. And you shouldn't take everything so close to heart. It's just business, Stiles, it's not personal."

Stiles knew what Derek meant, it's just that in practice separating personal and professional when dealing with the same person was not as easy as one would think. He took another meatball, letting Derek's words hang in the air.

"I don't want us to be at odds."

 _Yeah, right. And yet you still refuse to do something as simple as apologize._ Though it was probably useless to expect Derek to show remorse since he obviously didn't feel like he did anything wrong. He certainly didn't feel bad about snapping at Greenberg, so why should Stiles expect better treatment?

Perhaps because he _deserved_ better treatment!

"Well, there's a very simple solution for that," Stiles said, still sulking into his plate.

"Oh, is there?"

Stiles's heart skipped a beat when Derek suddenly leaned forward, breaching his personal space with a look that could only mean one thing. That was most definitely NOT what Stiles had in mind, but what the hell, he would take it. His eyes closed on their own, his whole body buzzing in anticipation of the kiss… that never came.

He opened his eyes again and watched Derek put a straw in his drink, that he was apparently reaching for from behind Stiles.

_Shit. Shit. Shit. Way to misunderstand it, Stiles!_

Blood rushed to his face even before he saw the sadistic smirk that was tugging up the corners of Derek's lips. Stiles wished the floor would just swallow him. What was he thinking? Well, clearly he wasn't! And why didn't he simply push Derek away? Oh God, this was so embarrassing!

"You should see yourself right now," Derek commented, looking obnoxiously smug. "Gorgeous."

Oh, he totally did it on purpose! _Motherfucker!_ Stiles jumped from his seat gasping for air in indignation. He wanted to yell and run and beat Derek up and then possibly fuck his brains out. Or the other way around. Whatever.

Playing it cool was not an option anymore. Not when his face went fifty shades of red and Derek called him out on it. The asshole was totally getting off on his humiliation. Sadist. So much for not being flustered… Stiles turned on his heel and stormed off.

"I guess I still have it in me, huh?" he heard Derek call after him, laughing.

_Dick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you hate Derek too much, remember that everything is written from Stiles's POV, and he is tired and stressed and keeps purposely misinterpreting everything Derek says. (although the last bit was definitely a Dick move;))


	10. Congratulations, you have been heard loud and clear

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was pleasantly surprised with the response on the last chapter! You guys are the best! I was very flattered that so many of you had strong opinions on the story/characters, though I have to admit that it also made me question whether I’m not being too subtle with everything. 
> 
> I did make a few minor changes to the last two chapters to make it a bit clearer that Stiles knew that Derek most probably never approved the changes to the Lobby, since neither of them remembered ever having this conversation. Apparently, many of you thought that Derek strongarmed him into thinking it was his fault. And that was absolutely not the case. Stiles just couldn’t believe he would do such a stupid mistake, that’s why he kept claiming that Derek approved it.
> 
> I'll see how this goes, I might have to do some more thorough rewrites to push my own narrative a bit stronger. (I shall warn you if this happens)
> 
> Anyway, here’s the next chapter - as promised a longer one, and the one I have been really looking forward to. Those of you who read any of my other fics will know exactly why, hehe;) To quote one of my favorite fanfic writers [thatotherperv](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatotherperv/pseuds/thatotherperv) \- “This is romantic if you’re as twisted as me”;))

You know that feeling when nothing, and I mean NOTHING seems to be working out for you? Now multiply it by a hundred and then you might get a glimpse of the frustration that had been squeezing Stiles from every fucking direction.

As if making (yet again) a fool of himself in front of Derek wasn't enough, the whole universe decided to conspire against him. His beloved jeep finally gave up on him. Now. At 1 AM. In the middle of nowhere. He knew that ignoring that engine light will eventually backfire, and it did. And of course his phone was dead as well. And then to top it all off, his wallet was missing. Or rather Stiles knew exactly where it was. On the table right next to the plate with those delicious meatballs. A fitting punishment for running away like a coward.

With no phone, no car, and no wallet his options were rather limited. The most tempting one was to scream in frustration or walk a few blocks back to jump off the Brooklyn bridge. Stiles gave himself two points for dramatism and then toned it down to punching the steering wheel a few times. The next option was to sleep in the car… and freeze to death. Or walk home and freeze to death on the way. It was 'only' 30 blocks or so. Should be there in about an hour. And hopefully, nobody will mug him on the way. Not that there was anything to rob him of. Though maybe his stalker will finally man up and kidnap him properly. At least it would save him the pain of getting home by foot. Another point for dramatism.

Stiles had been walking for 10 minutes or so when the rain started. Because… _of course_ it did. It wouldn't be Stiles if something else wouldn't fuck up to make him even more miserable. Not that it was possible to feel any worse anymore. Stiles just laughed helplessly. He was such a dumbass, really. He had no one else to blame but himself. He _knew_ his car needed service. He _knew_ his phone was dying. He _knew_ he should have taken a jacket. He ignored all that and now he was paying for his own stupidity. Served him right.

What was the point of going to the office, if he didn't manage to do any work anyway? He should have just gone straight home. He hated to admit it, but Derek was right. There was a difference between putting in an extra effort to fix his own fuckup and pushing his body to the limit because of some stupid paperwork that was thrown at him by his opportunistic colleagues. _Good job playing the martyr for your own benefit_ … except there was no benefit and the martyrdom was clearly not his forte.

He was so busy wallowing in self-loathing, that he didn't even notice the car stopping right next to him. A split second of gut-wrenching fear was replaced with an overwhelming relief when he saw Derek behind the wheel.

"Derek, thank God!" Without being prompted, he opened the passenger door and jumped inside the inviting warmth of the car. Whatever ill feelings he harbored towards Derek a few hours ago, right now he was easily his favorite person on Earth.

"What the hell happened? Are you ok?" Derek looked all over him, eyes scanning for any signs of trauma.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," Stiles waved his hand nonsensically, "My car just died."

Derek frowned like that explanation didn't make sense to him.

"And my phone died as well, and I lost my wallet," Stiles explained, his voice turning sheepish towards the end.

Derek's worried face turned into one of displeasure as he took Stiles's wallet out of his pocket and handed it to him. "You left it on the table." He put on the heating and directed the fans towards Stiles to warm him up, and while the gesture showed his consideration, his clipped tone gave away his ire. "I called you, but it went straight to the voicemail. I went to your office, but you weren't there, so I figured you must have gone home. Then I saw your jeep and you weren't in it. I thought…" he shook his head, jaw clenched, muscles tensing, "I thought that that asshole got to you. If I wouldn't have found you at home, I would have called the cops."

Stiles should have probably felt bad for worrying Derek this much, but hearing him admit it was actually rather satisfying. "Well, nothing quite as exciting," he said, giving him a tired smile. "I was just really _really_ unlucky."

"You mean really _really_ reckless," Derek snapped, his expression full on disapproval.

"What was I supposed to do?!"

"How about keeping track of your belongings? Or keeping your phone charged and functional? Jesus Stiles, you have a stalker and you prance around alone at night! What were you thinking?!"

"Well, I didn't exactly expect my car to die in the middle of nowhere!"

" _Bullshit!_ You told me the engine light was on like a month ago. So that tells me you still haven't gotten it fixed. That's not you being unlucky, that's you being reckless and irresponsible!"

All that was true. But Stiles was not gonna just sit there and let Derek read him a riot act. "And whose fault do you think this is?!" he snapped back, his own temper flaring.

"Excuse me?"

"You know what? Fuck you, Derek! Fuck you and your high horse! I have been bending over backwards to get you your fucking rooftop pool, but do I get any thanks? Noooo. It would obviously kill you to give any kind of acknowledgment. But when it comes to chewing me out over a bit of miscommunication, God forbid you would hold yourself back!"

Derek was clearly taken aback by Stiles's sudden outburst. "Look, I'm sorry if I was harsh with you over the lobby-"

"If? IF?!"

"Fine, I'm sorry that I _was_ harsh, but you weren't exactly a picture of politeness either."

"Gee, I wonder why! I was summoned like a fucking pizza delivery, without as much as hello, just to be yelled at in front of the very workers that I'm supposed to be managing! I mean, we wouldn't want my job to be too easy, right?!"

Stiles purposely omitted the fact that it ended up working in his favor because that was not the point he was trying to make. He expected Derek to go on the defense, but the Dom just pressed his lips together, letting him rant away.

"What? Nothing to say?" Stiles egged him on. "You were so eloquent before. Had so much on your mind about me being _reckless_ and _irresponsible."_ He spat the words out, hoping to get a rise out of him, and felt even more frustrated when his jab was met with silence.

"You think that after treating me like dirt and then jerking me around you have any right to tell me off for forgetting my wallet? Or for not having my phone charged? Fucking _bite_ me! It's none of your fucking business!" He cast Derek a furious look, waiting for some kind of reaction, but Derek still remained infuriatingly quiet, so Stiles went on. "Just because you keep showing up to catch me at my worst, doesn't give you any right to give me shit for it! You must have developed some kind of a hero complex, but here's the news for you - you're not a fucking hero and I'm not your fucking damsel in distress!"

"Oh you got that right," Derek finally growled back. "You are not a _damsel_ in distress, you are a _brat_ in a fit of temper. But it ends now!"

"Well then stop the fucking car and let me out!"

"No," Derek replied firmly. "You've done enough self-sabotaging for one night. We will be at your place in ten minutes or so. Till then you will shut your mouth and try to get your emotions under control!" Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Derek beat him to it. " _That_ was not a request, Stiles!"

The stern tone coupled with the warning edge finally forced Stiles to shut up. He crossed his arms on the chest and stared out of the window sulkily. It felt good to get it all out of his system, but at the same time, Stiles was not used to losing his temper like this. The sheer amount of f-bombs he spilled in a couple of minutes was probably more than what he normally used in a week. In fact, his behavior dangerously resembled that of Jackson, and any other time he would have been mortified by that comparison. Right now he just didn't have it in him to care.

No one said a word for the rest of the ride. Derek parked the car at Stiles's apartment building and turned off the engine. The tense silence that followed was nothing short of suffocating and yet it lingered for a few endless seconds. Then Derek let out a heavy sigh and finally looked at him. Stiles felt his gaze burning into him but refused to return it, staring intently at his lap.

"You're upset and I understand that I'm at least partially to blame for that, and I'm sorry for my part, I really am. It was never my intention to treat you like 'dirt' or 'jerk you around', as you put it. Frankly, I was just trying to get us back to where we were before that stupid lobby went haywire, but you were so intent on staying mad at me, taking anything I tried as a personal attack..." Derek let out another frustrated puff, running his hand through his hair the way he often did when he was disconcerted. "But being upset is not an excuse for going off the rails the way you did. You can't jeopardize your own safety just because you are having a bad day, Stiles."

He waited for Stiles to say something but now it was Stiles's turn to play mute. When a few seconds passed and Stiles still didn't say anything, Derek unclasped his own seatbelt and opened the door.

That got Stiles out of his silent musings. "What are you doing?" he asked, his breath catching in his throat with unease.

"Let's go."

"Why?"

Derek paused and looked at him. "You are all wound up, angry and frustrated. I'm gonna help you let it go."

"Doing _what_ exactly?" Stiles asked, already knowing the answer.

"You know very well what I'm going to do. You have been asking for it the whole ride. You did something stupid and reckless, and it's eating away at you. You need someone to take you to task and that's what I'm going to do. You might not sit comfortably tomorrow, but you will sleep like a baby tonight."

Stiles' stomach did a somersault. Derek's agenda appealed to him in so many ways, played into all of his masturbation fantasies... But at the same time, the presumptuous attitude that Derek had any right to "take him to task" was grating on him.

"Let's go."

"No."

Derek raised an eyebrow as if he didn't expect any backtalk on the matter. "If you need some extra incentive to do as you are told, I can certainly start already here."

Stiles's temper resurfaced. "Who do you think you are! In case you missed the memo, I'm not your sub, Derek. You have no business telling me what to do nor punishing me! What makes you think I'll ever agree to-"

"Be _quiet_ before you dig yourself deeper," Derek cut him off sharply. "You already have quite a whooping incoming, which I know you will consent to because you have been provoking me the whole way home acting like a total brat. I have spent enough time with you to know what a polite disagreement with you looks like and this was not it. This was you spiraling out of control, begging to be put in place. Well, congratulations - you have been heard loud and clear. Now you have two options. You safeword right now, tell me I misread the situation, then say something about a shitty day and a lack of sleep to give an excuse for your behavior, possibly apologize and thank me for giving you a lift and I'll respect your wishes, leave, and we won't speak of this again."

Even laid out like that Stiles knew he was in no state to go with the first option. Being a rational adult just didn't seem like a possibility right now.

" _Or_ you agree that you acted extremely irresponsibly and you need me to take charge and I will."

 _You already did,_ Stiles thought grimly. _You always do when I need you to._ He bit his lip and rubbed his neck in pretend indecision. As if there was anything to decide really... Stiles knew what he wanted the moment he started pushing Derek, and apparently, Derek was just as aware of it.

"I won't sleep with you," Stiles finally said, setting out some ground rules.

The Dom chuckled. "Of course not, champ. You are in big trouble, there won't be any pleasure for you tonight."

"No, you know what I mean."

"Yes I do," Derek replied, his face getting serious again. "Just discipline… and aftercare."

"Ok."

A shadow of a smile passed Derek's lips before they pressed back into a tight line. "Let's go."

Stiles didn't waste any time getting out of the car. Derek immediately grabbed him by the elbow, firmly leading him to his own apartment. Stiles was actually glad for the physical evidence that he was not in control anymore. It was kinda freeing.

Derek led him straight to the bathroom, acting as if he was at home, with an air of confidence and aplomb. If he was at all nervous, Stiles couldn't tell. Though _he_ certainly was.

"Do you need a shower before we start?"

"I.. yeah."

"You have 5 minutes." Derek turned to leave, but then stopped and went back. He opened several cupboards looking for something and then smirked, taking out a large oval bath brush. It was a notoriously mean implement, the one Stiles purchased with this particular use in mind. He had never been spanked with a bath brush before, except for trying it out a few times on himself, but that wasn't the same of course.

Derek walked out without another word, leaving Stiles with a swarm of butterflies in his belly in anticipation of what's to come.

"Four minutes left," Derek called, spurring him into action.

It was the fastest shower Stiles ever took. Not as much because he was looking forward to having his ass handed to him (ok, maybe a bit), but rather because he wasn't eager to give Derek any more ammunition to add to it. He put on his sleep t-shirt and cotton pajama pants and hurried back to the living room. However, even though he didn't dawdle, the Dom still looked pissed for some reason.

"Why is your window opened?" he froze Stiles with a question, his expression highly unamused.

"Uhm… I forgot to close it, I guess?"

"You are getting extra with my belt for that." Stiles opened his mouth to protest, but Derek cut him off, "It's right at the fire escape. Literally anyone could get in. You can't just _forget_ basic security measures, especially now that someone is stalking you!"

Stiles had nothing to say to that. He knew that Derek was right. He bit his bottom lip and dropped his gaze.

"Alright. Let's get on with this," Derek said, sitting down on the bed and beckoning him with his hand.

Stiles marveled at the sight in front of him. A hot guy in a vest from a three-piece suit with his sleeves rolled up, revealing the drool-worthy muscular forearms, was sitting on his bed and patting his thigh in an invitation for upcoming discipline. If they were in the club reenacting this scenario, Stiles wouldn't hesitate a second. But this was different. Not a club. Not a made-up disobedience. Real punishment for real behavior. Stiles's legs refused to obey, feet rooted to the ground, eyes glued to the bath brush lying next to the Dom.

"Come here, champ, it's time for your spanking," Derek prompted him, softening his voice a bit.

The choice of words, while definitely more embarrassing, worked better on calming Stiles's nerves. He slowly approached and stood in front of Derek, unsure what he was supposed to do next. Was he supposed to lay over the edge of the bed? Or Derek's lap? Lower his pajama pants himself? Wait for Derek to do it?

The safest course with most Doms was to simply wait for directions. The fact that Stiles was overthinking it like this, showed just how nervous he really was.

"Normally I don't give warm-ups for punishment, but since I haven't played with you before, you will get one. I'm sure you have a stash of implements somewhere in your closet, but I think this will do nicely for today." Derek patted the bath brush. "Have you used it before?"

"Not really. I mean, I know it hurts," Stiles muttered and then decided to tackle a quiet, "Sir."

"Good." Derek didn't smile, but Stiles could tell the proper title pleased him. "Over my lap."

He guided Stiles over his left knee, resting his body on the bed and leaving his feet on the ground, ready to be scissored in by Derek's legs if needed. Then he pulled Stiles' torso closer to him, keeping his hand there to secure him in place.

Stiles has had his fair share of OTK spankings. It was by far his favorite position, providing the right combination of (dis)comfort, intimacy, and embarrassment.

 _Down boy._ Stiles's cock spurred to life as soon as Derek put him in position. He knew that this was strictly disciplinary, and yet he couldn't help it. The idea simply excited him too much. And Derek's fingers sneaking under the waistband of his pajama pants didn't help it either.

The cool air caressed his backside, as his face heated up with an added humiliation. No matter how many times he had his ass bared for a spanking, it never got any less embarrassing (or any less hot). It was a weird mix of shame and arousal that discipline always inspired in him. The conflicting feeling of "want-not want". Technically, he wasn't supposed to want it, cause the discipline was meant to be a deterrent. But what do you do, when the idea of a punishment itself excited you? And I don't mean just a measured amount of pain that brought on a nice and floaty state of subspace, but a real kill-me-now-make-it-stop pain that wrecked you and left you sobbing and begging for forgiveness. Not that Stiles had much experience with the latter.

Thankfully it was not something he had to explain to Derek. And not just because they have casually discussed it many times in the club, but because Derek liked punishing his subs past the "enjoyment" level just as well, like a true sadist he was.

Stiles knew Derek had to be aware of his erection by now, but the Dom mercifully didn't comment on it. Stiles made it clear that he was not interested in anything sexual (what a lying liar who lies he was) and Derek was respecting that. Though Stiles had no doubt that he won't maintain his erection for long, because Derek had a mean arm and could dole out quite an ass-beating, way beyond Stiles's pain tolerance. He wasn't afraid that Derek would go overboard though. If there was one thing Stiles had no doubt about, it was that Derek was very experienced and knew what he was doing.

Trust was paramount for any type of BDSM relationship, and right now there wasn't a single person out there who Stiles trusted with this more than he did Derek.

The first smack echoed in the quiet of the room. Stiles drew in a breath, relishing the initial burn and the delicious lingering sting it left. Before he could start craving another, there was a second and third and fourth, falling down in a mid-paced rhythm, not too mild and not overly brutal. Just hard enough to remind him that Derek was not fooling around and that this was not going to be a "fun" spanking.

Though Stiles loved it all the same.

Ever since Derek bent him over for a couple of well-placed swats five years ago, Stiles's fascination with spanking only grew. Of course, since then he explored and learned to enjoy various other BDSM practices such as bondage, anal play, edging and could even be persuaded for some mild cbt and nipple torture, but impact play and spanking in particular, remained his absolute favorite.

Stiles never played up his reactions, knowing how fake and annoying it always looked on others, but neither did he make a point of restraining himself. The soft whimpers that started escaping his lips after a minute or so could just as easily have been moans of pleasure. That's not to say that a hand spanking in general couldn't be sufficiently severe to bring him to heel. But that was not the intensity that Derek had chosen. He called it a warm-up and a warm-up it was, and the only thing that could make it more perfect would be if Derek interspersed the spanks with some rubbing and kneading. That way Stiles could literally stay bent over his knee purring in pleasure for hours.

As if reading his thoughts Derek took a pause in slapping and let his hand brush over his warm cheeks, soothing the sting away. "You're enjoying this a bit too much, don't you?" There was no admonishment in his voice, Stiles would even say there was an amused edge to it.

"I can't help it," he replied, smiling into the bedsheets. His nerves calmed down pretty much as soon as Derek started spanking him. It was familiar and therefore comforting. There wasn't much he could do to fuck this up.

"Well, I can." Derek grabbed the bath brush and tapped it against his butt. "The fun part is over."

Stiles braced himself for the impact but was still caught off guard by the intense burn of a thousand bees stinging his flesh. The bath brush far exceeded his expectations and not in a good way. One swat was enough for Stiles to decide that he was most definitely NOT a fan. Before he could properly process his hate for the implement, the brush fell down again, and again, taking his breath away.

"Shit!" he yelped, legs straining from the pain, hands digging into the comforter, but it didn't make Derek slow down. "Ow! Wait, wait, WAIT! Derek, please!" Stiles panted, unable to cope with such a brutal onslaught.

Derek put the brush aside and rubbed the sore spots while his other hand brushed through his hair to calm him down. "What is it?" he asked casually as if they were having a tea party and not an intense spanking session.

Stiles almost laughed. _What do you think? It fucking hurts!_ But he was already subdued enough not to openly mouth off as he did in the car. "It's way worse than I expected."

"Well, you are being punished."

"I know... just… not so hard?"

Derek chuckled, ruffling his hair. "Oh no, champ, it's gonna be hard and it's gonna get worse yet. You have quite a list of misdeeds. Now, why don't you tell me what those are."

Stiles drew a blank. The brush was patting his butt again and as if that on its own wasn't enough to unnerve him, he wasn't sure what exactly Derek wanted to hear. "I.. uh.. fucked up your lobby?"

"Is that a question?"

"No. I was negligent in my responsibilities, Sir." Now that sounded like something he supposed Derek wanted to hear.

"Alright…? And you feel like it's something you should be punished for?"

Shit, this was like pulling teeth. Couldn't Derek just lay it out for him, the way he did in the car? "I guess?"

"Up to me, then. And I say no. Mistakes happen and you already managed to fix yours. And since I apparently don't say it enough, I _am_ quite pleased with your work. I wasn't lying when I spoke to your boss today. You are sharp, capable, and very well organized. You are also very good at predicting and preventing troubles even before they arise. That's something I find particularly valuable as it saves both time and money and not many people I've worked with are as good at it as you are. And now I also know that even if something does go wrong I can rely on you to fix it."

 _Shit._ Derek might have as well chopped some onions, cause his words hit Stiles harder than the bath brush did. Stiles wasn't sure when was the last time he felt so validated. Especially since Derek wasn't known for showering people with praise. Unfortunately, before Stiles could fully enjoy this rare moment of recognition, Derek brought them back to the topic at hand.

"However, there were other less commendable actions you've taken lately that you absolutely deserve to be disciplined for. Let's start with your car."

 _Ah, right._ "I ignored the engine light."

"Yes. And I suppose I don't have to explain to you just how stupid and reckless that was." Derek tapped the brush against his butt, his voice turning stern again. "Frankly you should be happy that leaving you stranded in the middle of the night was all that happened. You could have gotten into a traffic accident. Seriously, Stiles, for all your troubleshooting abilities you seem to have a surprisingly lax approach when it comes to your own safety."

With that, Derek swung the brush hard against his bottom. This time Stiles was better prepared, gritting his teeth to keep himself from crying out. But of course, it didn't stop at a single swat and more of them followed in an uncompromising steady rhythm. It hurt so bad, Stiles had a hard time keeping still and before long he was crawling away from Derek's lap. The Dom only chuckled as he pulled him back, got a firmer grip around his torso, and scissored his legs with his own. Being trapped only added to Stiles's growing misery. He let himself yelp and squirm, but neither helped against the burning inferno that Derek kindled on his poor ass.

Just as Stiles's hand started twitching to cover himself, Derek put the brush aside again and rubbed his sore cheeks. "Alright. What else are you guilty of?"

Stiles didn't want to say anything, because as soon as he gave Derek another reason to keep punishing him, the gentle hand would move away and the bath-brush-out-of-hell would be back.

"Stiles?" Derek prompted him and then when Stiles still remained quiet, he stiffened and his voice got laced with a hint of concern, "Are you alright?"

It was the first time that night that Stiles heard Derek's confidence waver, and he couldn't help but find it endearing. A proof that even such a formidable Dom as Derek could be unsure and worried that he did something wrong. Of course Stiles was experienced enough to communicate or safeword if things were getting too much for him, and Derek knew that. But apparently, Stiles's sudden silence unnerved him enough to check in with him.

"I'm fine," Stiles reassured him quickly, "I just… don't want you to stop petting me yet."

He could practically hear Derek's smile, even though he didn't turn around to see it.

"You are coloring quite nicely," Derek commented, pressing his finger into a particularly sore spot. Stiles had no doubt that there would be more than one bruise adorning his butt by the time Derek was finished with him. "I have to say I really like your bath brush."

"The feeling is not mutual," Stiles deadpanned, making Derek chuckle again.

"No, I dare say it's not. But we are not done yet, champ. And you have stalled long enough. So tell me what's next on your list of transgressions."

"You are the one who keeps claiming I have one so you tell me," Stiles grumbled, his mouth running away with him before his brain fully caught up.

Without another word, Derek grabbed the brush and attacked Stiles's sit spots and thighs.

"Noo! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm Sorry! PLEASE!" Stiles whimpered, his hand shooting back to protect his butt, but not quite reaching his thighs.

"I'm clearly not doing my job well enough if you still find the need to mouth off at me," Derek said calmly, tapping the brush against his thighs.

"No, you do! You do! I just wasn't thinking. Please, no more!"

"Take your hand away and keep it there. I don't want to break your fingers."

Stiles immediately obeyed, knowing that it was a no-no for any type of impact play, and for heavy implements in particular. "Sorry."

Derek didn't acknowledge the apology this time and Stiles felt his displeasure with every bone in his body. He hated it even more than that stupid bath brush. Ok, maybe not more, but at least just as much.

"Well? What else are you being punished for, Stiles? And I suggest you think well before your mouth writes any more checks your butt can't cash."

Stiles grimaced, feeling like he must have heard that quote or some variation of it before, but couldn't remember where, so instead, he focused on giving Derek the answer he was looking for. "I knew my phone was dying and I still didn't take the time to charge it before going to the party."

"Now that is just common sense, Stiles," Derek said admonishingly.

"I know." Frankly, none of this would have happened, if he just had his phone working.

Derek didn't say anything else on the matter and let the brush do the rest of the talking. Stiles tried to take his punishment, he really did, but his butt was already scorched, and each consecutive swat was harder and harder to deal with. Having nowhere to run, his hand shot back again.

" _Stiles!"_

Stiles quickly pulled his hand back and hid it under his torso, hoping it would help him control it better, but Derek had a different idea.

"Give me your hand."

"Nooo," Stiles whined, clutching it tighter.

"I'm not gonna ask you again."

Tentatively Stiles gave Derek his hand.

"Palm up and keep it open."

 _Shit._ Now Stiles knew exactly what Derek wanted to do. The Dom held him by the wrist and rapped the brush down against his palm. Stiles yelped and jerked his hand, but Derek held it firmly in place.

"One more. Open up."

"Oww!" It wasn't even half as bad as what his ass had taken and yet Stiles felt close to tears as he nursed his punished palm.

"If you can't control it, I can cuff you, or just hold it down for you, but you need to speak up."

Stiles didn't say anything, feeling very sorry for himself and pouting quietly into the bedsheets.

"A verbal answer, please."

"Yes, Sir."

"Good boy."

And just like that, two simple words made all the difference. Stiles never craved them as much as some other subs he knew, but they sure worked their magic in moments of distress. It didn't make the dreaded brush hurt any less, but it made the punishment not as unbearable as when it was coupled with Derek's disapproval.

The paddling resumed and the building pain and the overall exhaustion gave way to emotional vulnerability. The tears were getting closer and closer with every punishing swat and Stiles didn't attempt to stop them.

"Pleeeease," he whined as his hand jerked to interfere again but stopped just in time.

"It's alright, give it to me," Derek said gently, obviously seeing Stiles's mounting distress. When Stiles subjected his arm to be pinned on the small of his back, Derek surprised him by holding him by the hand rather than by his wrist. The latter would have asserted Derek's dominance over him, the former was an intimate gesture that said they were together in this. After that, the tears were flowing freely and the swats lost in intensity.

"Alright. What else did you do deserving of punishment?" Derek asked, giving his sore cheeks a good rub.

"I lost my wallet," Stiles said, his voice thick with tears.

Derek rapped the brush down three more times. "What else?"

By now Stiles was fully aware that the 'list' was not about what Derek wanted to _hear_ , but what Stiles wanted to _confess,_ so that he could forgive himself and let it go. He swallowed a few tears and took a deep breath to keep his voice from shaking. "I've been needlessly overworking myself. I should have gone home after the party as you wanted me to."

"That's right, champ, your health always comes first. Especially," _*SWAT*,_ "when you work," _*SWAT*_ , "for such a demanding dick," _*SWAT*_ , "like me." _*SWAT*_

 _Oww._ Stiles certainly felt those, more tears sprinkling from his eyes.

"Alright, anything else?"

"I didn't take my jacket." Even to his own ears, it sounded ridiculous, but he did regret it and Derek asked so…

Two more halfhearted swats landed. "Anything else?"

Stiles bit his lip. There was one more thing that bothered him but he was reluctant to admit it… "I was rude to you."

That gave Derek a pause.

"You feel bad about that, huh?"

"Yes," Stiles confirmed without hesitation.

Derek put away the brush and started spanking him with his hand again. Not hard by any means, but after the lengthy dose of the bath brush, it didn't take much to reduce Stiles into full-fledged sobbing.

"That's a good boy, let it all out," Derek murmured, his gentle voice contrasting with the continuous pain his hand kept doling out.

"I'm sorry," Stiles sniffled, overwhelmed by all the emotions that were spilling out of him now that he finally gave in.

"It's alright, I'm sure I deserved that."

Stiles shook his head. "Even if you did, I don't lose it like that. That's something _Jackson_ would do," he spat the fellow sub's name with a veil of poorly concealed contempt, as his breath hitched on a sob, "That's not me."

Derek laughed and gave up on spanking him altogether, just rubbing comforting circles on his back as he cried.

It didn't take long for Stiles to regain his composure. He felt spent and exhausted, but also light and oddly satisfied. He didn't remember the last time he had a good cry. Certainly not while lying over somebody's knee. Counter to popular belief it was actually not all that easy to cry over a spanking, no matter how painful it was. And for grown men in particular. In fact, Stiles only knew one sub who easily gave in to tears when punished. The rest of them just teared up here and there.

"Thanks," he said, hoping Derek won't make him elaborate and just take his gratitude as is. He wasn't in the habit of thanking for the punishment, but that was partly because his scenes were never about real transgressions. Even when he was still in college and used a bad grade as an excuse for a Dom to whoop his butt, he didn't _really_ feel like it was needed or warranted. It was hot, so Stiles pretended to be oh so guilty for his bad grade. But this was different. After three nights at work and everything fucking up on him, he was stressed, angry, and frustrated and Derek helped him unwind in a way Stiles always craved.

"Sorry champ, but we are not done yet."

"What?" Stiles looked at him surprised.

"I believe I promised you extra for leaving your window open. And unfortunately for you, I keep my promises." Derek moved Stiles from his lap and got up unbuckling his belt.

Stiles watched the gesture that any other time he would find immensely erotic, but right now only added to his misery. "Nooo," he whined, hiding his face in his hands when he saw Derek double it over.

"Oh my. If you looked any more pitiful, I'd adopt you."

That prompted a burst of reluctant laughter from Stiles. "That's not funny!" he complained sulkily.

"Come on, it is a _bit_ funny," Derek teased, running his hand over Stiles's battered cheeks. "Ten more. Then it's over and you can tell me all about how mean I was to you."

Stiles hmphed into the bedsheets and braced himself for additional punishment, which in his opinion was entirely unnecessary. But he was not gonna make a fuss over a few smacks with that flimsy belt Derek wore… _Ouch!_

Ok, the belt was not flimsy after all. Stiles powered through all 10 strikes, his eyes watering again by the end, while Derek softened each blow with a quiet encouragement like "Good boy" or "That's it, only X more."

When it was finally over, Derek put away the belt and crouched down to admire his work. "You took that so well," he praised, examining Stiles's butt. "Wanna see the end result?"

"I hate you," Stiles grumbled halfheartedly, but the sentiment only made Derek laugh.

"Come, I wanna see your face when you see the work of art I created on your backside." Derek helped him up and held him when Stiles's legs suddenly turned to noodles. "Easy, champ."

Stiles found that over the course of the evening he grew to like Derek's pet name for him. Before, Derek always used it in a sort of mocking way, but now it had an affectionate undertone in it.

The state of his ass was nothing short of shocking. It was deep crimson with a multitude of purple brush marks that splotched together into two big dark bruises stretching from the fleshiest part of his butt down to his sit spots. Stiles didn't remember his ass ever glowing with this many colors. He never thought he would be able to take such a thrashing either, and he felt kinda proud of himself.

" _Holy shit!_ I'm throwing away that fucking brush."

"Don't you dare, that's my new favorite implement!"

"Sadist."

"Guilty as charged," Derek grinned at him. "Let's go back and I'll rub some soothing cream on that _naughty_ butt of yours."

Despite his exhaustion, Stiles's cock still twitched at those words, while his face colored as it always did when hearing the trigger word. Derek led him back to bed and then went to fetch the necessary aftercare.

Stiles lay on his stomach drooling into the pillow as Derek carefully massaged the Arnica and then a soothing aloe vera cream onto his battered cheeks. Stiles might have moaned a few times. The pleasure was not really sexual in nature, he just loved the aftercare part of a spanking. Maybe even more than the spanking itself, or at least just as much. But even though Derek's skillful fingers felt absolutely wonderful on his sore skin and Stiles would like this part to last forever, his eyes started dropping as the overall exhaustion was finally catching up with him.

"I have to say, I'm quite impressed with the beating you took," Derek noted, as his hands deviated from tending to Stiles's backside to petting his head the way Stiles liked. "I didn't expect you would take this much."

"You act as if you were an innocent bystander in all this," Stiles snorted into the pillow.

Derek chuckled. "Believe it or not, I was playing off of you. If you were to break down on me already during the warm-up, that would have been all you got."

"Great. So the fact that I will never sit down again is all on me."

"That's exactly right, champ."

The last thing Stiles remembered before the sleep took over was Derek's breath tickling his ear as his lips pressed against the top of Stiles's head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok, so this was probably the most self-indulgent chapter I have ever written. I understand that it’s not for everyone, but it’s ‘my thing’, and there will be more of the same (or similar) going forward. But of course, there is still a story to tell, so it won’t become a spankfest=)


	11. Spanks for Africa

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I was absolutely floored by all the lovely comments (as well as surprised how perceptive you guys are;)). I don't think I have ever gotten so much feedback on a chapter before and I can't stress enough how encouraging such feedback is!  
> This one has a bit less action in it, but hopefully will still be enjoyable=)

Just as promised, Stiles slept like a baby that night. He woke up to the sounds of the coffeemaker and the quiet background noise of some TV show. It was 10 am and Stiles could certainly stay in bed for a bit longer given it was Saturday but he couldn't exactly leave Derek to fend for himself at his place. He was a guest after all.

A _guest_ that was apparently brazen enough to make use of his kitchen and cook breakfast. The french toasts on his plate looked very appetizing and Stiles noted that more of them were still sitting on the pan, presumably left for him.

Derek didn't look nearly as well-rested as Stiles though. His shirt was all mangled, his hair a mess, his vest and jacket splayed on the sofa, indicating that the Dom had subjected himself to yet another terrible night on the 'couch of torture'.

Stiles refused to feel bad though. Nobody forced him to stay the night (though Stiles was really pleased that he did). And despite appearing tired, Derek didn't seem to be in a bad mood. He was reading through one of Stiles's magazines and glancing towards the TV on occasion, as he sipped on the coffee and munched on the french toasts. Such a lovely domestic sight... Stiles took a moment to just observe and file the mental picture away for the future.

"Looks good," he said pointing to Derek's plate.

"Oh, finally. Good morning. You don't mind, right? I didn't want to wait till Your Highness finally deemed to wake up, so I kinda improvised. There's more on the pan."

"It's fine, thanks," Stiles said, as he put the rest of the french toasts on his plate. "Though, if I'm of royal blood, you better call me ' _Sir'_."

Derek let out an amused snort. "Not on your life."

Stiles looked at the chair, then at Derek, then at the chair again, and weighed the pros and cons of _sitting_. In the end, he opted for comfort laced with a dose of humiliation, as he fetched a cushion from the sofa and placed it on the chair before carefully lowering himself on it.

"Oh, shut it." He didn't have to look at Derek to know what kind of expression he would find on his face.

"I didn't say a word."

"You didn't have to, your smug face speaks volumes."

Derek chuckled and the two of them fell into companionable silence, as Stiles ate his breakfast, while Derek turned back to reading the magazine. Stiles was a bit surprised by how completely at ease he felt around him, given that not so long ago he was a blubbering mess writhing in pain over his knee. But despite his expectations, there was no awkwardness between them whatsoever.

"Stiles?"

"Hm?"

Derek waited for Stiles to look at him. "Are we good?"

"Yeah."

Another minute passed.

"I'm sorry too, you know."

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly not following.

"For the lobby," Stiles elaborated. "I… there was so much stuff going on, it just slipped my mind. You usually agreed to my suggestions, so I just assumed you must have given me the green light for it. I swear it won't happen again."

Derek waved his hand dismissively. "It's fine, you fixed it. And I should have supervised this better. Everything was going so smoothly I grew comfortable and didn't go to the site nearly as much as I was supposed to."

"Well, I'm glad we agree that it's all your fault then," Stiles teased.

Derek narrowed his eyes at him. "For someone sitting on a _pillow,_ you sure are acting brave."

Stiles chuckled into his plate. He missed their usual banter. He could certainly get used to having Derek around, doting on him, making him breakfast, teasing him...

But would that be the case every time he played with the Dom? Or would Stiles be just one of the many subs Derek went through the night? Assuming he would even want to scene with him again, now that he finally got his hands on him. But even if he did, Stiles wasn't so sure he was ready to join his fanclub of submissives. He was already too much at his beck and call at work. He needed distance to maintain the status quo. It worked for them so far… (well, most of the time).

Last night was… not a mistake, God no, Stiles would never use such a word. Last night was horrible and special and wonderful in the most unconventional way, and the memories would probably serve him as fapping material for many nights to come. It's just that it was not a situation Stiles found himself in very often. And the one he intended not to find himself in ever again. He was not a self-sabotaging spiraling out of control anxious sub. He always had his shit together, and he fully intended to stick to that. He was grateful that Derek took charge and didn't let the situation get any worse, and then helped him unwind. But in the end, it didn't really change anything between them. Stiles avoided scening with Derek for a reason. And that reason hasn't changed. Yesterday it might have not mattered, but today it did again. Stiles was simply not ready to jeopardize his first big project by further complicating his relationship with a client.

However, after the hotel was finished... perhaps they could revisit this topic.

"You done? I want to see my work of art before I go."

Stiles looked up and the playful gleam in Derek's eyes was on a whole new level. "The canvas is private property, sorry," he chaffed.

"No no no, I have my authorial rights. Besides, I wanted to apply the arnica again."

"I'm fully capable of applying it myself."

"Dom's responsibility, champ. Chop chop." Derek prompted him up and pointed towards the couch while he went to fetch the Arnica cream.

Stiles decided it was not worth arguing over, so he lowered his pants and bent over the armrest, feeling a bit awkward and on display.

"Hmm, not bad," Derek said, gently touching the bruises. "Though the daylight is definitely less flattering."

"Gee, thanks, my canvas shall be very offended."

"Your canvas is mighty fine even in daylight."

"10/10 would recommend?"

"Yes, I shall write a review on 'Buttadvisor' - Great shape, pleasant to touch, colors nicely, mouthy owner, gag recommended."

Stiles laughed at that. That was definitely the silliest exchange they ever had, and while Stiles was no stranger to being a goof he certainly never expected Derek to play along. Perhaps something _did_ change, after all. Stiles glanced back as he pulled his trousers up again and Derek looked… happy. Like genuinely happy. But then he remembered how pleased and relaxed the Dom looked after whipping Jeremy in TRZ, and decided it was simply the afterglow after a nice punishment session.

Derek stretched his arms and neck for the umpteenth time and Stiles took a small pleasure in knowing that he was not the only one sore after the night. "Perhaps you require some aftercare too?" he grinned gleefully.

"Oh, don't get me started," Derek grumbled, glaring at the sofa. "Next time you need a punishment, I'll just force you to sleep on this yourself." He put his belt back on, grabbed his vest and the jacket all set to go, but then paused and looked at Stiles, finally taking notice of the lack of comeback. "Unless this was a one-time thing?" He hit the nail on the head.

"It was a one-time thing," Stiles confirmed, feeling oddly guilty as he said it.

"Ok, well if you ever want a repeat, feel free to yell at me some more," Derek quipped with a grin.

"I'll keep that in mind," Stiles replied, forcing a tiny smile of his own. Though in truth, he felt a bit hurt at how little Derek cared that they won't be playing again. He expected Derek to question his reasoning, to try and persuade him for a repeat. Hell, at least look a bit sad or angry. But Derek obviously didn't care all that much since he had a horde of subs to replace him. Which only confirmed that Stiles made the right decision.

He saw Derek to the door and the Dom surprised him by opening his arms in an invitation for a hug. The confusion must have been apparent, because Derek explained, "It's for me."

No matter his feelings, Stiles would never deny a play partner a hug. Tops needed reassurance just as much as bottoms did, so Stiles let himself be enveloped in a tight embrace which felt so fucking good, it made his chest hurt. He noticed how Derek breathed in his hair and almost opened his mouth to ask him to stay... But before he could do that, Derek let him go and the moment was gone.

"See you at work, champ." And with a flash of his signature smirk, he was gone.

* * *

xxx

Sitting at work on his bruised ass was both a blessing and a curse. Stiles's body generally healed quite fast and usually by Monday most of the marks from the weekend play were gone or were not particularly noticeable, but that was not the case this time. He kept shifting around, trying to find a position that would allow him to focus on the task at hand and not picture Derek wearing out his backside with a bath brush and then soothing the pain by gently rubbing it, only to reignite the sting shortly after. And then pet his head and murmur soft reassurances and…

 _Oh, here we go again. REPORTS. Focus, Stilinski, for fuck's sake!_ But no matter how much he scolded himself to pay attention to his work (or rather to that stupid paperwork, that he was doing for somebody else), he kept catching himself grinning like a dork every time his ass throbbed from sitting too long in some unfavorable position.

He didn't manage to be particularly productive and by the end of the day decided he'd had enough being anyone's bitch, so he told his colleagues that he didn't have time for their paperwork anymore and to finish it themselves. Surprisingly enough, they didn't even argue. Which only proved how short Stiles sold himself and how much of a sucker he was.

On Wednesday he and Derek had a meeting with an interior designer, who prepared a long-ass PowerPoint presentation on every last piece of furniture that " _shall compliment the design and spirit of the hotel absolutamente exquisito!"_.

Stiles's experience with interior design was limited to 'this I like and this I don't', Derek just wanted stuff to look good and fit the budget. But neither of them wanted to appear rude, or offend the guy who was clearly really into this, so they patiently kept their butts on the chairs and their eyes on the screen.

As you can guess, Stiles was not very good at keeping still and whenever he shifted, he would catch Derek looking at him with that knowing smile. He didn't say anything but Stiles could see how much it pleased him. So by the end of the presentation, Stiles might have squirmed a few times just to see Derek smile again, even though his bruises were mostly gone by that point.

He skipped TRZ on the weekend. His butt was fine with just one barely visible yellowish mark that he couldn't even feel anymore, but he decided it would be better to take a break. To take a breather… to fix his headspace… to keep his distance.

Stiles had no intention to stop scening altogether though, so the next Friday he was back at TRZ and was greeted at the entrance by a weird combo of Malia, Kira, and Lydia.

"Stiles!" Kira waved at him.

"Write him in, write him in!" Lydia told Malia, who was the only one of the trio calm enough to actually greet him.

"Hi Stiles, it's 'Spanks for Africa' night, wanna participate?"

"What's that?" Stiles asked, slightly unnerved by the obvious excitement radiating from Kira and Lydia.

"A charity event. We are raising money for the victims of the recent hurricane that hit Florida. Participants are donating 'spanks', bidders are offering money for a specific implement and amount, the Monitors are choosing 3 options every round and present them to the couple to choose from."

"But I don't have a couple."

"No one does. People are paired randomly, Tops and bottoms. You should sign in, it's a lot of fun."

"What if no one would want to bid on me? That would be kinda embarrassing."

"No Stiles, that never happens, people _love_ to bid and they are very generous here. This is one of the most popular events, that's why there are at least 2 every year. Trust me, you will get so many bids, the monitors will have a hard time filtering the best options to present you."

"How many rounds are there?"

"Ten rounds, with maximum 20 hits per round, bids are going up in value and intensity towards the end."

So that could be a maximum of 200, which didn't really say much, as it could translate into a simple 2 minutes of hand spanking or into something completely crazy like 200 with a cane - ooops. "What if I don't last 10 rounds? Or what if I choose the bid and then can't take it?"

Malia waved her hand dismissively. "Happens all the time. And I haven't seen a single bidder ask for his money back. Besides, your Top can just cheese it if it gets too much for you. It's charity Stiles, really, don't worry, the aim is to raise money and have fun."

Stiles remembered the slave auction party and knew she was telling the truth. He looked at Lydia and Kira. They were both Switches and therefore could join as either Tops or bottoms or even both if they so desired. "Are the two of you participating?"

"Absolutely! I even volunteered to help with the draw! Come on, Stiles, I bet your ass is gonna be the one to raise the most money!"

Well, if Lydia with her measly pain tolerance wasn't afraid, then he was not gonna chicken out either. "Ok, sign me in," he told Malia.

"Submissive, right?"

"Yup."

The girl typed something on the computer and then handed him a scanner for his wrist.

"How many people signed up?"

"Eighteen with you. I think we could probably get another couple or two before it starts."

Stiles nodded and went inside, followed by Lydia and Kira. Both of the girls were wearing white watches, which meant that they had been invited by somebody.

"Are you here with Derek?" Stiles asked Lydia, trying to keep his voice from sounding jealous.

"With Peter," she replied with a grin.

"Really? I thought he was vanilla."

"He is a work in progress, and I quite enjoy educating him. Today I got backup," she hinted at Kira.

"Wow…and what does Derek say about all this?"

Lydia laughed, playing with her hair flirtatiously. "Derek is trying very hard to pretend Peter is not there."

Stiles was a tolerant person, but just imagining seeing his dad scening in the same kink club gave him creeps. It was probably not _that_ bad when it was your uncle, but still. He couldn't help but feel for Derek.

"I got a very interesting phone call from Derek, two weeks ago," Lydia noted, eyeing Stiles suggestively. "He called me in the middle of the night, all freaked out, asking if I knew anything of your whereabouts. He was ranting something about the car and you not being in it. I didn't get much, as I was still half asleep, but he got me worried. And then I got the message in the _morning_ that it was all good and that you were at home. With a smiley face... I repeat, _a smiley face._ From _Derek,"_ she stressed the name meaningfully, "Sooo… wanna tell me what this was about?"

"Nope."

"Come on, Stiles, tell me! Did you finally get lucky?"

"Lydia, let it go. I told you many times, we are just friends."

" _Right…_ "

Stiles huffed in annoyance at her skeptical tone, resisting an urge to flip her the bird. Instead, he simply turned around and made for a bar to get himself a drink.

_A smiley face, huh?_

_***_

The main stage was redecorated for the event, leaving only racks with implements, a variety of spanking furniture, and a huge screen hanging in the back. All the tables were provided with wrist scanners and there were a lot of people standing in the audience, as they didn't manage to snatch a sitting place for themselves. The club was really packed. And yet, not many people were eager to be the entertainment providers which unnerved Stiles a bit.

There were roughly 20 others with him on stage, the vast majority being young and attractive, which, Stiles supposed, directly translated to more money being raised. The way Malia phrased it, it appeared that people simply volunteered, but now Stiles was getting a feeling that they were actually chosen. Which in the end, was probably a good thing. He was happy to note that all the Tops were good and experienced and while he hadn't had a chance to play with most of them, he had seen their scenes and wasn't afraid to get paired with anyone there. Well, there was Derek, _of course,_ but the likelihood they would be paired together was less than 10%, and even if... well it was all for charity, right?

The event hostess, a professional Domme Miss Marilyn, joined them on stage to introduce the event and remind everyone of the rules. People were supposed to bid on the implement, the number of spanks (though no more than 20), and the amount of money (no limits there) they would donate to the cause if their bid was chosen. The higher the money the more likely the participants were to go for it, but it was still ultimately up to them. She reminded the audience that the bids didn't have to be limited just to spanks, that they were welcome to add tips and donations outside of rounds, and that the participants themselves were free to join in the bidding.

"Why is it called 'Spanks for Africa' if we are raising money for Florida?" Stiles asked Chase standing next to him.

"I think the first event was connected to the Ebola pandemic, and then the name just stuck."

"So you have participated before?"

"Yeah, they ask me every time. Though they always find a couple new willing bottoms to spice things up," Chase explained, winking at him.

_Great, I'm the new meat._

In the meantime, Miss Marilyn moved on to the draw. Stiles saw Lydia print down a piece of paper and then scuttle over to hand it to the Domme.

"And the first couple of the night is... a second of drumroll," she quipped, taking a dramatic pause, "Jackson and Danny!"

There was a round of applause as Jackson's Dom joined him at his side with a victorious smile.

"Destined," he said, chuckling.

Jackson rolled his eyes at him. "Yeah, right. You totally paid them off to pair us together."

"It's all for charity, baby," Danny replied, kissing him on the temple.

So the draw was rigged. _What a surprise,_ Stiles thought sarcastically. The next couple announced was Robert and Clair, and Stiles was confused when Chase suddenly walked over to the other side to join the sub.

"The fuck? Why is Chase suddenly a Robert?"

"His name is Robert Chase, silly," Jackson 'helpfully' explained. Stiles decided then and there that he shall bid Jackson 20 with a cane for his troubles.

The third couple was Kira and Jeremy. And then he heard his name being called out, paired with what-are-the-odds/this-absolutely-ain't-gonna-happen Derek.

Stiles tilted his head to the side, hardly even surprised at this turn of events, as he gave the approaching Dom the look that said it all.

Derek chuckled, raising his palms in surrender. "I swear, that wasn't me."

Stiles glanced towards the computer where Lydia was printing her papers and immediately identified the culprit. He vowed to have a word with her when this thing was over.

"Derek, psst," Danny called, "Hundred bucks says I beat you this year."

"A hundred?" Derek raised an eyebrow in that mocking way he often did. "That doesn't speak well for your confidence, Danny-boy."

"Make it a thousand," Jackson retorted with a smirk. "We go first, and Stiles looks like he is about to faint already now. This is gonna be too easy."

Stiles narrowed his eyes at the insufferable arrogant brat. It was likely that going first while everyone in the audience was still rich and pumped was an advantage, but hell, Derek and his horde of fans had to stand for something, and Stiles was no sucker either. They should be able to raise plenty of money!

He hooked his arm around Derek's waist and lifted his chin with a challenge. "You're on."

Derek looked at him with a mix of surprise and amusement, probably not expecting that he would rise to the bait this easily. Stiles didn't either. Plus, he was never the one to initiate any type of physical contact between them before. And yeah, he might have been a bit hasty in latching himself onto Derek as if they were an item. But well, desperate times called for desperate measures.

"We split fifty-fifty when we win," he told Derek, hoping that the Dom will not leave him alone in this, because he sure as hell couldn't afford to spend a thousand bucks to pay for his wounded ego.

Derek wrapped his arm around Stiles's shoulders and pulled him closer. "You heard the man," he addressed the other couple with that obnoxiously smug look that Stiles loved to hate and hated to love, "We are looking forward to wiping the floor with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know this feels a bit back and forth, but I promise Stiles's walls will sloooowly but surely be going down=)


	12. Ok

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spanks, banter, and feels - my favorite combo=)

Whatever concerns Stiles might have had regarding the bidding, they were all gone when Jackson and Danny took the stage and he saw the level of excitement and eager participation in the audience accompanied by whistles, whoops, and jokes flying around.

Rounds were "wasted" on various dares and puns and the atmosphere was very lighthearted despite the play getting more hardcore towards the end. Stiles was tempted to join in the bidding but he simply didn't have the means. Derek had no such troubles, bidding a sizable sum for some paddle action.

"What are you doing?" Stiles asked, surprised. Did Derek forget about their bet?

"It's charity, Stiles, don't take everything so seriously."

"But-"

"We won't lose either way and even if we did, I'd just bid an additional thousand for whatever Danny wanted me to."

"Oh."

Well, that certainly took the pressure away. After all the tough talk, Stiles thought that there would be an actual cash transaction between them. Once again he was reminded of how rich the clientele of the club really was. Money didn't play a big role when people were swimming in them. While Stiles felt a palpable difference between a hundred and a thousand, to Derek it was probably all the same chump change.

By the tenth round, Jackson's ass and thighs were glowing red, he was uncharacteristically meek and mellow, almost pleasant to look at... Okay, Jackson was _always_ pleasant to look at because he was hot, but his attitude normally grated on Stiles and watching him like this was kind of a novelty. Danny scooped the sub into his arms and carried him off the stage, looking at him with unfeigned pride and affection as if he was his most prized possession, while Jackson's face was filled with devotion and worship. Love.

Once again Stiles was hit with a stab of jealousy. He wanted this… ~~so fucking much~~. But it felt so surreal, so unattainable. It never worked. Not for him. To find somebody that fit you like a puzzle was such a rare occurrence. With all the nuances of BDSM, simply sharing kinks was never enough. You had to match the degree, the message, the tone, and all the other intricacies. And that was just the tip of the iceberg. You had to share basic values and goals in life, and had something in common, something to talk about, and find each other attractive, and... He glanced at Derek. _AND not be a manwhore._ Seriously, with all the things that had to click for a relationship to work, you might as well try your hand with a lottery.

And even then, relationships were messy. They were filled with arguments and heartaches and Stiles had his job and his goals and there was no time for anything else...

That lie used to be enough to quell his longing for more. It was in the moments like this, that Stiles had a hard time fooling himself. For all the contempt he felt towards Jackson, at the end of the day, he simply envied him.

"Stop looking so gloom. We will beat them no problem."

Derek's voice pulled Stiles out of his musings. He glanced at the screen showing a respectable amount of near 12k USD that the couple managed to raise and whistled. Malia didn't exaggerate when she said that people here were generous. The 'tips' were still streaming in when Chase took the stage. But Stiles didn't pay much attention to what was happening there and kept subtly eyeing Derek instead. The Dom ticked off plenty of Stiles's checkboxes, and yet, he was absolutely not the boyfriend material. Why would he even consider committing to anyone when he had an endless string of willing play partners? Though of course the same question could be asked about Stiles…

Stiles shook his head, trying to force his thoughts from wandering into those wild speculations. Derek _never_ told him that he would want anything other than an occasional scene. It was likely that the reason he even _wanted_ to play with Stiles was _because_ Stiles employed the same light no-strings-attached approach to his own play-partners. Perhaps telling Derek that he wanted a serious relationship would be the fastest route to get him off his back. He would probably cease all the inappropriate flirting and casual domming and Stiles would finally be able to work in peace without all the distractions, right? And yet, the idea didn't appeal to him whatsoever, cause believe it or not, Stiles actually _liked_ all the inappropriate flirting and casual domming.

"If you can't do it without the music, I can sing for you, sweetie," some woman called from the audience, bringing Stiles's attention back to the stage.

The submissive girl was already naked and tied on the spanking bench, but Chase was hesitating with a lightweight paddle he was holding. Stiles wasn't sure whether Chase was building suspense or was actually nervous himself. Though it became clearer when the Dom turned around and smirked at the lady.

"Come join her if you dare, and I'll make you sing alright."

To everyone's surprise, she did. She looked to be in her late 40s, slightly out of shape, but whatever imperfections she might have had were heavily outweighed by her confidence and spunk. As expected, the audience went crazy with support, bids flying high left and right.

Having two female subs at his disposal, Chase nearly tripled the money the previous couple had raised. Not that it was surprising since maledom+femsub was generally the most common dynamic and plucking an additional player from the audience was bound to be a success.

Kira and Jeremy came next and Stiles realized that going after 'the biggest painslut in the club' would probably make him look like a total wimp in comparison. Though most people should be focused on Derek anyway, so perhaps it wouldn't matter? For whatever reason, he became really nervous. He was never big on public scening, and this was more than just being tied to a cross in B-9 with a couple people watching - this was a stage performance in front of Manhattan's kinky upper crust.

"Our turn."

Stiles must have zoned out again because when he looked up, Kira and Jeremy were already leaving the stage.

 _Shit._ His heartbeat spiked with trepidation. "So, how is this... I mean what are we…"

Derek cast him an amused look. "Very easy. I'm in charge, you get spanked. Nothing to overthink there."

"Yeah, no shit. But you know what I mean. Are we like… Wait, wait, Derek! What are you… What the... Put me down! Put me DOWN!"

Stiles's cheeks flamed with mortification as Derek unceremoniously tossed him over his shoulder and proceeded to fireman-carry him onto the stage.

" _Derek!_ For fucks sake!" Stiles growled, slapping the Dom's back like an infuriated heroine from the 50s movies. "I can walk! Put me down right now!"

Derek turned a deaf ear to his protests, while the audience greeted such an arrival with overwhelming applause. Stiles didn't know whether he was more angry, embarrassed, or aroused. He always thought that a dose of public humiliation was only hot when it was happening to someone else, but his cock pressing against the zipper of his jeans suggested otherwise.

He jumped away from the Dom as soon as he was put to rights and cast him his fiercest glare, "Dick!"

"Shots fired!" somebody joked in the audience, bringing on more amused laughter.

"Woohoo, feisty!" Miss Marilyn cooed into the microphone.

"Show him, who's the boss, Derek!" came from the crowd. As if Derek needed any such encouragement. He gave Stiles a predatory look and beckoned him with his index finger.

Stiles' stomach flip-flopped at the gesture, but he was no milksop, he held his chin high and walked over to Derek with a challenging look which he hoped would at least somewhat cover his blush. As soon as he was within grabbing distance, Derek placed his foot on the spanking bench and in one swift motion flipped him over his raised knee. Stiles should have expected something like that, but he still let out a surprised squeak.

"My apologies," Derek addressed the audience, "we seem to have a little misunderstanding about who is in charge. Feel free to place your bids, while I clear this up for Stiles."

Stiles didn't think his face could get any redder. With his ass high in the air, his upper body dangling without support, and an amused chortling of the onlookers behind him, this was probably the highest dose of embarrassment he ever got in the scene… and damn his cock for liking it this much!

Derek's open palm landed on his butt with a resounding SMACK, though through his jeans it was all noise and little to no sting. Derek probably felt it more than Stiles did, but it didn't stop him from whacking him a dozen more times. Stiles struggled a bit for the effect to keep up his outraged pretense even though he actually felt more like giggling.

"Brings back memories, doesn't it," Derek noted quietly, his tone warm and amused.

Stiles couldn't help the chuckle escaping his lips, as he realized that it was in fact how their very first encounter had ended. "You only gave me 5 back then."

"And regretted it ever since."

"No need to make up for it now!"

"Oh hush, you little spanko," Derek adjusted him, tipping him a bit further to relieve some pressure off his aching cock, "I can tell exactly how much you are enjoying this." He slapped his butt a few more times and let him go.

Stiles almost regretted that it ended so soon, but then remembered that there will be plenty of that going forward. Derek put him down and ruffled his hair - something that was probably meant to rile him up but Stiles only felt oddly satisfied. The playful spanking successfully wiped off most of his nervosity and left him in a pleasant frisky headspace.

"You better pay up, _Sir_ ," he enunciated the title cheekily. "Spanks are not for free tonight."

Derek raised an eyebrow but then dialed a number on the tablet and scanned his wrist. The count went up by a hundred bucks.

Stiles gave him a disgruntled look. "Cheapskate."

Derek laughed along with an audience and added another 500.

"You are gonna have your work cut out for you with this one, Derek," Miss Marilyn teased.

"I'm up for the challenge," Derek replied cockily, eyeing Stiles like a delicious meal he was about to feast on. Given the visible bulge on his pants, Stiles was not the only one excited to get this show on the road. The counter kept going up with tips and was already sitting on +950 USD. Not bad, given that they haven't even started yet and were already nearing a thousand.

The screen blinked with the options for the first round:

  * a) 20 with a flogger - $200
  * b) 10 with a crop - $100
  * c) Lose the pants, Stiles! - $300



Stiles looked at Derek, who shrugged, indicating that it was up to him. Going by the money, Stiles unzipped his jeans and let them drop to the floor. He knew that he was not gonna keep them for long anyway.

He couldn't help the sarcastic remark though. "Are you sure that I'm the _only_ one you want to lose some clothes?" he asked the audience tauntingly.

"Two hundred for the t-shirt, Derek!" came the immediate response.

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles, though it was obvious he found Stiles's counterattack amusing. "This one is my favorite."

"Three hundred!"

"Three-fifty!"

"Five hundred!"

Even without his pants, Stiles felt quite smug. "Five hundred going once. Five hundred going twice. Sold to the lady in the blue dress!" he called victoriously, slapping his hand against the spanking bench with an imaginary hammer. "Come on, Derek, it's for _charity_."

He knew he was playing with fire, but Derek was a good sport and took his shirt off, throwing it to the winning lady. And daaamn, watching Derek topless was absolutely worth it. The thin leather tank tops he wore on occasion were already pretty revealing, so Stiles knew what to expect, but the sight still made him adjust his erection in his boxers. The gesture didn't escape Derek's notice, but Stiles wasn't particularly trying to hide it either. In fact, he was fighting the urge to reach out and run his fingers over those delicious muscles. But that would break too many of his self-imposed boundaries.

"You're antagonizing the hand that is about to wail on your backside, genius."

"I'm up for the challenge," Stiles threw Derek's phrase back at him.

Despite his thinly veiled threat, Derek didn't go medieval on his ass once they moved on to the actual spanking. The bids were going up in price from $10 a hit to $100 and the intensity was meant to be adjusted accordingly. Of course, it was entirely up to the Top and Stiles was certainly cranking up the sass that would have justified the harsher play, but Derek maintained the lighthearted attitude.

Stiles got 20 with a flogger, then lost the rest of his clothes, then another 10 with a paddle, 5 with a riding crop, and 20 with a tawse. That's when he started really feeling it as the blows gained on severity. He was generally going for the highest bid, or the best price/output ratio as he saw others do, and Derek left the decisions up to him, assuming the executioner's role. Stiles was a bit bummed not to see anyone ask for some classic hand spanking because he would love to feel Derek's hands on him again, sprawl over his knees, feel his body heat, smell his cologne mixed with a drop of sweat…

Stiles remained painfully hard throughout the ordeal, which was unusual since the audience usually subdued his libido. This time it only fueled it, as he and Derek proceeded to banter much to everyone's delight. Normally Stiles would never be this lippy during a scene, but this wasn't a scene. Not really. This was a performance.

And they were apparently very good at showcasing the sexual tension because the 7th round brought about an unexpected request:

  * a) 20 with a whip - $1500
  * b) 10 with a cane - $1000
  * c) KISS! - $1000



_Shit._

Stiles felt the blood rushing to his face. If it was literally anyone else, he wouldn't think twice about it. It would be the easiest thousand bucks earned and he would make a proper make out session out of it too.

But not when it would actually _mean_ something. Not when it could leave a lasting wound, breaking down the barriers that he spent so much effort to maintain.

Derek looked at him like a hungry lion would look at the baby antelope with a broken leg. Stiles might have felt like one, but he refused to play the part.

"The cane," he said, keeping his face as unaffected as possible.

The hint of surprise turned into a split-second frown and then smoothed out into Derek's usual haughty smirk. "Hop on, champ," he patted the spanking bench, "You're in for a treat."

Stiles didn't feel nearly as brave as he pretended to be. Canes were not a hard limit, but he certainly disliked them and he had a feeling that Derek was not gonna go easy on him. And not just because they were already too far in to keep the hits light, but because there was no way that Stiles's blunt rejection didn't hurt his swaggering ego.

His concerns were proved to be correct when the cane swished through the air and stung him with a force of a thousand hornets.

"Owww!"

 _Motherfucker!_ Did Stiles really just choose the cane over kissing Derek? Stupid, stupid, stupid. Fucking braindead! Worst decision ever!

"One," he heard Derek's amused voice. Of course the sadist would enjoy his misery. No surprise there. Stiles clenched his fists, his body pushing against the restraints to help him cope with the hated type of sting.

Derek landed 4 more equally scorching blows and then let his hand roam over the welts, soothing the pain. Having the Dom finally, _finally_ , touch him almost brought Stiles in tears. He slumped on the bench, the tension leaving his muscles. It felt so good, his dick started taking interest in the proceedings again.

"Beautiful," Derek murmured. Then his hand traveled to Stiles's back and up to his neck, kneading the stiffness away. "Are you ok?" he asked quietly. "I can let up on the next five."

"No, it's fine. I can take it." Stiles wasn't sure whether he was trying to prove something or simply impress the Dom. Not that a few hits with a cane after the whipping Jeremy took before him would actually impress anyone, least of all someone like Derek. But well, perhaps he just wanted to please him. Earn himself a word of praise.

"Good boy."

Yup. Fucking worth it.

Though his pleasure was significantly dulled by the next stroke which landed just as harshly as the previous ones. Stiles let out a yelp and Derek once again rubbed the affected spot to help him cope. Stiles did, but each consecutive blow still brought on an involuntary tremble, which might have been not as visible to the audience since Stiles was restrained, but Derek definitely saw it. It was a common reaction as his body was releasing high doses of adrenaline to help him process the pain. And even though he started teetering on subspace, Stiles was still happy and relieved to see Derek drop the cane after delivering the final stroke.

"That's a good boy, all done," the Dom cooed, crouching down to get a better look at all the red stripes that were surely adorning Stiles's cheeks now. But then he did something that made Stiles's breath catch in his throat. He pressed his lips where his hands had been, raining down a series of soft kisses across the welts. Stiles cursed under his breath at this unexpected highly erotic sensation, which successfully reawakened his arousal.

" _Derek,"_ he half hissed half moaned, unsure whether it was a protest or a plea for more.

"Does this count?" Derek asked the audience, as he stood up again.

"I'll take it!" some lady called back with a laugh and the counter jumped by another thousand.

 _Oh._ Stiles reached a new level of frustration because now Derek made him long for something he absolutely didn't want to be longing for. He refused a kiss for a reason and the fucker went and did something even ~~better~~ worse!

"Did I mention how gorgeous you look when you are all flustered?"

Here we go. Nothing helped Stiles out of his discomfiture better than Derek's obscene cockiness.

"Derek, if ever in the future I get mad and tell you to kiss my ass, please don't take it literally."

Derek chuckled as he started untying Stiles from the bench. "I do wonder how many strikes with a cane it would take to finally cure that smartmouth of yours," he noted amused.

"Your hand will give out faster."

"Famous last words."

And just like that, they were back within their comfort zone. Stiles wasn't sure whether Derek wanted to get back or simply played along with him, but it didn't matter because _he_ needed to feel the stable ground under his feet again, both metaphorically and literally. He shook his legs a bit to loosen the strained muscles. Seven rounds done, three more to go.

What followed was a very, _very_ thorough strapping. Stiles could normally take quite a lot with a leather implement but since his ass was already.. uhm.. _compromised_ (especially after the caning), the heavy strap was pushing his limits beyond what he would consider friendly impact play.

Derek didn't restrain him for this and Stiles had a hard time staying in position. He breathed heavily after every lash, tremors running through his body while he simultaneously wanted to cry and to giggle and quit and beg for more and harder.

Perhaps he should really stop going for the highest number. They already beat Danny and Jackson (though funnily enough the bet never even crossed Stiles's mind once they started), there was no reason to go far and beyond for this. He should pick something light for the last two, or tell Derek he has had enough and walk away. He knew that no one would bat an eye if he did. Except... he was enjoying this rendezvous with Derek a little too much for it to end so soon.

The options for the 9th round showed up on the screen:

  * a) 20 with a bamboo bundle - $2500
  * b) 2 mins of proper hand/otk - $2000
  * c) 10 with your glass slipper - $5000



_The fuck?_ The last option was glowing yellow, which Stiles assumed meant that it was a bid by a participant. Because who else would call a lexan paddle his glass slipper and place the highest bid of the evening, paying a staggering 500 USD per hit.

"You're kidding, right?"

"You said, you never tried a lexan paddle. I think it's my duty to remedy such a criminal shortcoming."

"I never tried the spaghetti thing either."

"Well, there's always the 10th round."

Stiles felt a stab of frustration. Now that he finally got a chance for his favorite hand/otk, Derek went and ruined it by overpaying for something Stiles never even tried. Now he would be stupid to choose anything else. I mean, it was only 5000 dollars. No pressure.

"God, I hate you," he grumbled.

Derek chuckled, patting his back. "Give it a try, I'll pay up regardless of how many you take."

"Fine, but I'm not promising anything. I'm already quite sore."

"I know, champ, I won't push you too much." Derek grabbed a thin midsized lexan paddle with a couple of holes in the middle, then reached for a chair and put it at the center of the stage. He sat down and gave Stiles a smug grin, patting his knee in a clear directive.

Stiles rolled his eyes, pretending to hate it, while being secretly thrilled to get into this humiliating (but favorite nonetheless) position. Derek spread his legs, allowing Stiles's hard-on to rest in between without the added pressure (or stimulation). Stiles could feel Derek's own erection pressing at his side and hoped that the Dom was at least half as frustrated with the lack of gratification as he was. He put one hand on the floor and grabbed Derek's ankle with the other to keep himself stable. This was definitely less comfortable than resting his upper body on the bed, as well as way more embarrassing, especially given the audience, which he now had a very clear view of.

" _Shit."_ Stiles bit his lip, turning his face away, as his cock gave an involuntary twitch. Seriously, since when was being humbled on a public display such a turn-on? He was turning into Lydia! At least Derek couldn't see him blush, though he had a feeling the Dom was well aware of it anyway.

"Ready for your spanking, Cinderella?"

"Depends. Are you my Fairy Godmother or my Evil Stepmother?"

"Tsk. I'm the Prince Charming, of course." With that Derek brought down the paddle with a resounding thwack.

"Oh, FUCK!" Stiles nearly jumped from the impact. While the strap was all about heavy thud, this little fucker was a king of sting, surface burn level inferno, practically peeling Stiles's skin off.

"I knew, you're going to love it," Derek deadpanned, landing another merciless swat.

Stiles squeezed his eyes in a painful grimace. Now he finally understood what others were talking about. He always found sting harder to take than thud and this must have been the stingiest implement ever! Great attention grabber, even better discipline tool. But a bit too much to find enjoyable at the moment.

"Oh I have a lot of words for it, but love isn't one of them!" he panted, gripping Derek's leg for dear life.

The third swat made Stiles tremble, the fourth one elicited a long pitiful whimper and the fifth one dampened his eyes.

"Well, at least it's not a bathbrush," Derek said, rubbing his butt consolingly.

"It's worse," Stiles whined. It probably wasn't, but he was too sore to tell anymore.

"Alright then. Ready for 3 seconds of hell?"

"Oh, God..." Stiles clenched his fists, bracing himself for what he expected to be a fast and furious rest of the 10.

And that was exactly what Derek did, holding him down and landing the rest of the swats in quick succession. Hell was a rather accurate description. Tears spilled on Stiles's cheeks and he wiped them with the back of his hand, trying to calm his ragged breathing and regain his composure.

Two hands rubbing soothing circles on his back were certainly helping, but even so, Stiles knew he was not up for any more play. "Derek," he croaked, "I think I've had enough."

"I know, champ, look at the screen."

  * a) Hug! - $1000
  * b) Hug!!!- $1000
  * c) HUG! - $1000



Composure be damned. Stiles's chuckle turned into a half-sob, more tears sprinkling from his eyes, as Derek helped him up and wrapped him in a tight embrace. God he smelled so good, Stiles wanted to drown in him.

"I'm proud of you, you did so well. We raised so much money."

Words were escaping Stiles and for once he was content to stay quiet and just feel. This was turning out to be a great night indeed.

* * *

xxx

Despite Stiles's worries about how they will move on after the event, the two of them managed to bounce right back into their usual bickering camaraderie. Just like after the night of his punishment, there wasn't any awkwardness and Derek didn't treat him any different than before, much to Stiles's relief. However, now there was another issue. Stiles became sort of, just a tiny bit, and maybe a bit more than necessary… uhm... obsessed.

Derek ruined him for other play partners. Ok, that's a tad dramatic. Stiles scened with others just fine. And just because he was picturing somebody else wielding the flogger, didn't mean that he wasn't enjoying himself, alright?

Besides, Derek didn't seem to be suffering from the same affliction, so Stiles was all the more determined to get his head together. The problem was that he couldn't exactly avoid Derek. Not at work, not at TRZ, and frankly, he didn't want to either. He enjoyed his company, even if he would fervently claim to the contrary whenever asked.

xxx

Stiles tried to adjust his tie, cringing at the poorly done knot, but unable to fix it in the short elevator ride. He was already running late and a shit tie was certainly a lesser evil compared to letting a room full of people wait for him. Derek asked him to give a short 10 min presentation on the hotel's progress to Nemeton's management and shareholders.

He ran into the conference room and experienced an odd feeling of deja vu. It was the second time he saw Nemeton's CEO and he was late again. At least Derek seemed to be amused rather than displeased and Stiles felt the blush spread over his cheeks as his mind jumped to their last encounter...

~~~

His hands were roped to the ceiling of the impact play room, forcing him to stand on his tiptoes while Chase covered his body with the bite of a flogger to the beat of some slow heavy metal song. Stiles was slipping into the subspace when Chases's pager beeped, breaking the scene. Apparently, there was some emergency in the hospital (either that or his boss was being a dick again, which was pretty much just as probable) and Chase had to promptly leave. He apologized profusely, and even though Stiles reassured him, that he'll be fine, Chase marched him into the main hall to find somebody to look after him. His eyes fell on Derek, Danny, and Jackson sitting by the bar and he pointed Chase in their direction.

"Guys, can I leave Stiles here with you, he is still dopey and I kinda have to run."

"Sure, we'll look after him," Danny said, while Derek wordlessly raised an arm for Stiles to come over and cast Chase a disgruntled look. Now that Stiles secured himself a caretaker of preference, he didn't mind playing up his grogginess, even if it meant that Derek will be having some stern words with Chase later on.

Stiles bonelessly flopped himself next to Derek, who wrapped an arm around him, letting his head rest on his shoulder.

"Wow, he is really out of it," he heard Jackson snort but didn't bother to open his eyes nor correct him. This felt nice.

Derek must have noticed the stiffness in his arms and shoulders, because he took Stiles's feet and placed them on the sofa, rearranging them so that Stiles was leaning against his chest. Stiles let him manhandle him like a ragdoll and had to stifle a moan of pleasure when Derek started massaging his strained muscles.

"Oh my, would you look at that. A service Top in action," Danny teased, laughing.

"Nah, I obviously have an ulterior motive." Derek kept his voice low, as to not to disturb Stiles from his pretend slumber.

"I can tell. So how many times have you been rejected?"

"I lost count."

"Aww, so saaad," Jackson drawled mockingly. "He wants you though."

Derek's following chuckle sounded uncharacteristically forlorn. "Of course he does. He just loathes to admit it."

Stiles had to quell a pang of guilt for feigning his condition which allowed him to hear something that was probably not meant for his ears. And not the words themselves, but the way they were spoken, the tinge of vulnerability shining through the usual mask or arrogance. It never occurred to Stiles that Derek could be actually saddened by his rejections. He always thought that if anything it was healthy for the Dom's overblown ego. Derek's feelings were something that never entered the equation of Stiles's 'work versus wants' dilemma.

For the first time, Stiles felt selfish. After all, here he was, letting Derek take care of him yet again while pretending to be too out of it to mind such intimacy. As he lay there thoroughly enjoying all the attention as Derek worked on his aching muscles, Stiles realized that the only thing he _loathed_ at the moment was the fact that Derek wasn't the one to give him these aches.

~~~

That was 3 days ago. Watching Derek now, you wouldn't think there was a single cell of insecurity in his body. Perfectly groomed, well-dressed, stupidly handsome, cock of the fucking walk. Stiles turned away to force himself into the work mindset, lest someone noticed the proverbial drool.

The room was not nearly as full as Stiles would expect for such a corporation, but then he spotted the camera and figured that most of the shareholders were probably attending online. He prepared a few slides on the current progress, giving realistic data and estimates, and ended with the designer visualization of the finished lobby. He just received it yesterday evening and thought it would be a nice touch to include it. It got a lot of approving nods and a dazzling smile from Derek, so Stiles supposed it was a success.

He slipped away to go to the bathroom right after and wasn't surprised when Derek followed him there.

"Hold on," Derek caught his arm and turned him around, "I can't look at this anymore. You can't have a tie end at your chest. Look at this. Seriously, Stiles, one would think you're a teenager wearing a suit for the first time." He undid the tie and started making a new knot.

Oddly enough, Derek getting handsy with him and fixing his tie didn't even feel wrong anymore. It wasn't the first time, and Stiles bet it wouldn't be the last one either. He also knew that he would keep letting him. Why? Because the attention felt too good and the mild scolding went straight to his dick.

"Why are you doing this?" The question was almost rhetorical. It was a dance that they have been indulging in since the beginning.

"I told you, this had been hurting my eyes the whole time. I could barely focus on the presentation. Good job including the visualization, by the way, it made an impression."

"No," Stiles shook his head, making his tone a bit more forceful, "I mean why are you doing _this_. You keep topping me. All the time."

"It's hard not to," Derek chuckled, shrugging, though his face was far from apologetic. "You bring it out in me."

Stiles munched on his inner lip. "Ok."

"Ok?"

"Ok," he repeated pointedly.

"So tonight TRZ, 8 pm?"

Stiles' breath hitched but he managed a nervous nod and another, "Ok."

Derek's eyes flashed with excitement before the usual smirk took over his features. "Ok."

That was a lot of 'Oks' and not much clarity. "Uhm, should I… I mean, do you want me to…" Shit, he was babbling, 24 going on 19 again.

Thankfully Derek took pity on him. "Doesn't matter. Wear whatever's comfortable, meet me inside and we'll talk before anything else."

"Yes, Sir," Stiles said on an exhale. Having things spelled out to him brought on the level of comfort, the title slipping on instinct.

Derek watched him thoughtfully but didn't say anything on the matter. "Alright, I'll see you later then."

When he left, Stiles looked at his flushed reflection in the mirror and took a deep breath to calm his racing heart. He wondered how much he was gonna regret his sudden weakness leading to this ill-thought-out reckless decision.

_Well… no turning back now._


	13. Friends with (not enough) benefits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some walls fall, and others are built in their place.

In the few hours that Stiles had before TRZ, he managed to change his mind about a thousand times - talked himself into going, not going, going and telling Derek that he changed his mind, going and letting Derek decide everything, playing sick, and leaving the country. As usual, the longer this was going on the more points for dramatism he was awarding himself.

He kept oscillating between 'what-the-hell' and 'don't-be-stupid' and both sides had very good arguments as far as he was concerned. In the end, he settled somewhere in between - a compromise that didn't fully appease either side, but both could live with it. And if Derek didn't agree, well... that would solve it too.

***

The club was not particularly lively, as was usually the case during weekdays, people sticking to munch activities and private rooms rather than public action. Stiles spotted Derek at the bar flirting with some girl and once again was proved that caution was the right approach to take. After all, this was not just about his job anymore…

He thought about approaching the couple but then decided to just sit and wait for Derek to notice him. He didn't want anyone to feel needlessly awkward and besides, some basic etiquette demanded for subs to take a passive role and he wasn't sure where they were standing right now. Not that he believed Derek would get pissed, but he didn't want to start the evening on the wrong foot either.

Derek noticed him fairly quickly. He kissed the girl on the cheek and paid his goodbyes before coming over. "Hey, you by car? Fancy a drink?" he asked, waving at the bartender without waiting for an answer. He seemed to be relaxed and in high spirits, a stark contrast to the twitching ball of nerves that Stiles felt himself to be at the moment.

"N-no, I mean yes…" Stiles stuttered and then grimaced at his nonsensical reply, "No to the car, yes to the drink."

Derek didn't even smirk and Stiles decided to be grateful for small mercies. The Dom ordered them both a beer and took a seat opposite of him. As much as it would have been easier to just let Derek lead him through the upcoming conversation, Stiles knew it would be better if he stated his conditions right off the bat so that they didn't waste time negotiating something Derek might not even be interested in.

"So..." Derek cast him a suggestive smile.

Stiles quickly dropped his gaze because he felt his heartbeat pick up and his cock stir in his jeans. If he didn't say anything now, he would just slip into sub-mode and let Derek navigate the waters. And as stupidly tempting as letting go of control was, he knew he might regret it later. "Yeah, uhm, can I just start please, cause… I have a few conditions, uhm, rather grave conditions you might say."

"Alright," Derek smirked, "let's hear your _grave conditions_."

"Don't," Stiles pleaded, feeling like he was already losing the battle before it even started. And he didn't even want it to be a battle. "I need you to be serious right now."

To his credit, Derek immediately sobered his expression. He cleared his throat behind his fist and silently signaled for Stiles to go on.

"So, uhm..." Stiles rubbed his neck nervously. He had this whole speech prepared (and rehearsed) and now couldn't remember a word of it. He felt stupid as if he was about to admit to something utterly shameful, even though his request was actually not all that uncommon.

_Alright, here goes nothing._

"There will be no sex," he took a breath and went on, "no sex, no intimacy, no touching, no edging, no orgasm denial, no masturbation limitations, no cock-cages, no penetration of any kind... well, you get the gist. I'm interested in pure power exchange and nothing more. I won't touch you and you won't touch me. That's pretty much what we have been doing on and off till now and I admit that it didn't totally screw the work dynamic, so I'm willing… no scratch that, I'm _interested_ in getting more of that. Inside and outside of the club, if that's something you would be interested in as well."

Ok, as far as speeches go, that one was definitely not Oscar-worthy material. Stiles dared a glance at Derek and the expression on his face was unreadable. Not displeased, not confused, not happy, not sad… maybe thoughtful? But even that was a pretty weak guess. It was unnerving so Stiles kept making his case, sprinkling it with a bit of uncomfortable honesty.

"I like when you take charge. I like when you call me on my shit. I like when you put me in my place." _And punish me, and scold me, and spank me._ "I like when you take care of me." _And calm me, and pet me, and praise me, and do the hair thing._ "I don't want to overcomplicate our relationship by throwing sex in the mix. I like what it is now and I wouldn't mind if there was, uhm, _more of it_."

"Okaay." Derek frowned, which was not a good sign.

"Nothing else would change, of course. You are free to scene with whoever you want, do whatever you want, and so would I. But if we scene together, it would be just how it was before - not sexual. And if you wanted to, you know, randomly boss me around because you can't help it and I 'bring it out in you', well, I'm not going to pretend to dislike it anymore."

That got him a chuckle. A chuckle was infinitely better than a frown.

"As if you were fooling anyone," Derek snorted, his arrogant smirk making a reappearance. He took a sip of his beer and tilted his head to the side. "So you wanna be fuckbuddies minus the fuck part."

"I'd call it 'friends with benefits' but I'm flexible on the terminology," Stiles replied, matching Derek's cockiness.

He knew how many "benefits" he was scratching off the list by taking sex and intimacy out of the equation. One would think that BDSM was all about sex and why would anyone pretend otherwise? But Stiles actually played quite often within the platonic realms of power exchange. Take Chase or Lydia - it was never about sex with them. And that's not to say, that Stiles disliked sex or anything. He was fully aware of just what he was depriving himself of by doing this. He loved a good fuck, loved being bound and helpless while a thick cock stretched his ass, mixing pain with pleasure. Loved anal play, loved to hate anal punishments, loved edging, loved to hate orgasm denial, loved coming apart after forced abstinence, loved to whine and complain and plead and beg during it, loved being toyed and tortured and at a Dom's mercy. And being at _Derek's_ mercy would be sexy as hell and just…

Too much.

Stiles knew he wanted to scene with Derek since day one. He was tired of saying 'no' when all he wanted to say was 'yes please' and 'thank you, Sir.' But he also knew that going all the way would make him vulnerable. And that was just not something he could afford right now.

He didn't want to feel like a jealous insecure little bitch whenever Derek smiled at another sub. Didn't want to feel torn apart once the Dom ~~inevitably~~ got tired of him and moved on. Didn't want stuff to get ugly at work because of the drama that would surely follow. Stiles didn't do drama. He didn't do breakups. He didn't get his feelings involved. And he knew that sex with Derek would put all those principles at risk. The only solution he could come up with was to keep Derek at arm's length while simultaneously getting what he needed from him. Because if he was 'using' Derek, he wouldn't end up feeling used himself. And it wouldn't hurt as much when it was over.

Of course, if Derek was to say no to 'no-sex nonsense', then the evening would be kind of a bust, but in the grand scheme of things, it would be a rejection Stiles could live with and get over fairly quickly, given how many times he rejected Derek himself. Though watching Derek's body language he was already 95% sure the Dom was gonna cave.

Derek gave him a long calculating look and then shrugged. "Alright."

"Alright?"

"Yes," Derek replied simply, "However, I do have a condition of my own. I won't touch you or control your orgasms, but you won't touch yourself either. Not on my time. When you are alone, do whatever you please, when you are with me, I'm in charge and you will respect it."

"That's fair," Stiles agreed. He didn't expect anything else. Not like he was going to start masturbating in front of Derek while simultaneously forbidding him to be able to do anything about it. That would put the whole idea of power exchange on its head. "Anything else?"

"I'm sure we'll add to it as we go." Derek took out a folded paper from his pocket and placed it on the table. "I pulled your TRZ entry questionnaire as well as your Fetlife checklist. I guess we can now ignore most of the items on the list, but I still want to know if there have been any changes."

"No, these are accurate."

"Wanna see mine or you already memorized them?"

Ok, Derek managed to keep his 'dickness' under control for the whole of 10 minutes. Stiles considered it progress. He couldn't help an amused snort though, "I'll take a look. My memory is not what it used to be."

"We'll work on that." Derek grinned, handing him his questionnaire. The banter was actually rather comforting. Stiles wasn't sure whether he would be able to dial it down after months of constant teasing.

"Oh, I almost forgot. I address Tops by the first name as a sort of 'soft yellow' during the scene. But I'm not sure it will work with you."

"It's fine, just use the actual color."

"Yeah, ok… I mean, yes, _Sir."_ The word tasted sweet on his lips. Stiles didn't realize he was licking them till he caught Derek's gaze on his mouth. _Oh boy._ What was he thinking putting a ban on sex? He was getting hard just from Derek _looking_ at him. How long could this possibly work before he combusted from sexual tension? _Note to self - next time jerk off before going to the club._

"Alright. Anything else on your mind?"

Stiles shrugged which was probably not an adequate reply but Derek didn't correct him or looked at all displeased. Stiles wasn't entirely sure what level of respect was expected of him. Sure, one could never be "too polite" with a Dom, though Derek didn't seem angry even when Stiles was at his sassiest. But then again, Stiles wasn't _his_ sub back then… and that was about to change.

"Since it's a workday tomorrow we are gonna take it easy tonight. Some basic power play and moderate impact play. Objections?"

"None, Sir."

"Good. For future reference, I'm not in a habit of clearing my agenda with subs. If you don't like something I expect you to speak up. I trust that you won't have any issues with that."

A more submissive wallflowery sub might have, but Stiles never had troubles voicing his objections, wants, and needs and Derek was well aware of that.

Derek led him to one of the standard private rooms and without asking put the setting on private. Stiles asked his partners for it every time. With the whole stalker-issue and his ever-present paranoia, he already felt like he was being watched most of the time, he didn't have the need to add to it.

"Would you kneel for me, please?"

If Stiles didn't see Derek say it, he would never believe that words like "would" or "please" came out of his mouth in this setting. Derek never issued his orders as requests, and certainly never phrased them as questions. Not even in normal life, which was something that often irritated Stiles.

Derek didn't seem to be unsure or nervous, just polite, and it kinda threw Stiles off balance. He expected Derek to be his usual dickish self, which would give him an excuse to push back and earn himself a punishment. But now being met with this awfully polite approach, he would be a total jackass to answer something rude in response. Caught off guard, Stiles stammered a barely plausible "yessir" and sunk to his knees rather awkwardly.

Derek didn't comment, he came closer and with a couple of gentle yet firm moves adjusted his posture without saying a word. Stiles felt his cheeks heating up, his heart thumping in his chest. He wanted to say something but couldn't find a single word. He was not expected to speak unless spoken to anyway, but that only made him all the more eager to talk. He wanted to break the conventions, to test Derek and see how he would handle it. But the fear that he will mess this up in a manner of 10 minutes just like 5 years ago was already digging a pit in his stomach. He didn't want Derek to think he was a useless submissive.

The inner battle was kinda absurd because he wanted to be a brat and give Derek hell and at the same time, he didn't want Derek to dislike him or their time together. His knees were buzzing and his hands were itching. He wanted to squirm but was afraid to even breathe. Derek stood behind him, so Stiles had no way to grasp his reaction without breaking position. And wasn't it just ridiculous for an experienced sub to feel so nervous over something as basic as kneeling?

The silence started to stretch when Derek finally spoke, his tone firm but not cold. "I can see how much you want to rebel against me already and I want you to know that I won't safeword out if you do. I also want you to know that you will be getting your ass whooped either way."

"I know…" Stiles muttered, finally finding his voice and shifting his position a bit. He munched on his lip over the next bit that needed saying but lacking the courage.

"But?" Derek correctly guessed that there was a "but".

"I just like it more this way. I like it to be a punishment, rather than pure impact play." That was not a revelation really. Stiles must have mentioned it before. And if Derek went through his Fetlife profile, he probably saw it there too.

"So you brat your way to get one, controlling the narrative." It was not an accusation but rather a statement. And a correct one at that. Stiles was aware that many Doms weren't fond of it. Chase was one of them so Stiles never pushed him (out of respect, not because he wouldn't want to).

"Does it ruin it for you?"

"No, not usually," Derek's voice got a familiar playful edge. Stiles could hear the smile, even though he couldn't see it. "I mean, it _could_ , depending on how far you take it. But it's also not the only way to earn a punishment. I could always set you up to fail."

That would leave Derek in control, as Stiles had no doubt he wanted to be. "That... uhm... I don't know," he tripped over the words, "I mean, I haven't tried it." He heard Derek walk around him and saw his shoes in the purview.

"Would you like to?"

Ok, so they were totally negotiating here. In the middle of the scene, while Stiles was kneeling and Derek had an upper hand. That certainly broke protocol and yet Stiles didn't have the slightest inclination to call Derek out on it. He certainly didn't feel like he was being taken advantage of, so protocol could go and kiss his ass. He raised his head and finally looked at Derek.

"I don't know. Would it be like you giving me ridiculous tasks and when I fail them you will tell me how useless I am? Cause that would not exactly put me in the right mindset." He probably sounded a tad too defensive. As usual, he combated his nerves with snark.

"How long can you hold a plank?"

"What?" That was a rather abrupt turn of conversation.

"You seem to be in pretty good shape. How long can you hold a plank?"

Stiles frowned. "I don't know. Three minutes?"

"Let's see it."

"Now?"

"Yes, now. Go on, champ, impress me."

_Hello dickness, my old friend,  
I've come to talk with you again._

Stiles had absolutely no need to impress Derek, or so he thought. But despite Derek switching to a more familiar tune, he didn't actually feel like rebelling either. He went down on his elbows and toes, putting his body in a perfectly straight line as he always did during his workout. Three minutes was a wild guess on his part, as he never really bothered to keep it beyond the recommended 60 sec.

He heard Derek inhale as if he wanted to say something but then thought against it. Stiles couldn't tell how long he was holding it and his muscles started to whine in protest.

"Time?"

"Keep going."

Damn it, if Derek told him how long still, it would have made impressing him a bit easier. He heard another inhale but instead of a command Derek started pacing around him. It was unnerving. If he didn't know better he would say he was already fucking up and somehow agitated the Dom. But how could he possibly mess up already? If Derek wanted him to fail right away he wouldn't have phrased it as a challenge.

_Stop overthinking it. Just do as you are told and enjoy it. Isn't that what you always wanted?_

Well, okay. Holding a plank while Derek paced around him was not exactly high on his fantasies list.

"Three minutes. Not bad."

Stiles dropped on the floor like dead weight, breathing heavily from the physical exertion. There was a sense of accomplishment which felt nice, even though 'not bad' was not exactly the highest praise out there. And Derek could certainly add a bit of physical touch to make him feel more appreciated, but Stiles was not about to ask for that. Not for something as mundane as holding a plank.

"Alright, now strip."

 _Finally._ Stiles never thought he would be eager to get out of his clothes, but it was one of the things that should help him to get in a correct headspace, cause so far this experience was not exactly what he expected.

Derek's eyes followed his every movement and Stiles felt himself growing hard again. Nudity was one of the most basic elements of power exchange. With every piece of clothing, Stiles was baring himself physically and emotionally in front of his Top. It used to be hard, took a lot of willpower to make oneself so vulnerable, but as with most things, it became easier with time and practice. Stiles was satisfied with his body now and the command didn't produce the feelings of shame and fear anymore. Or perhaps they were still there, just to a lesser degree, overshadowed by arousal and excitement.

_See something you like?_

He would love to egg Derek on, except now that he barred sex, acknowledging his own hardon and Derek's obvious interest in it would be wrong. So instead Stiles attempted a "shy" smile which was so obviously fake, Derek raised an eyebrow and opened his mouth for what Stiles would bet was a sarcastic remark, but then just like before he closed it without saying anything.

 _Awkwaaaard._ Why was this so weird? Stiles has had his fair share of awkward scenes, but he certainly didn't expect this to happen with Derek. They already did plenty of stuff together, and felt entirely comfortable with one another, so where was this coming from? Did Stiles set his expectations too high? Was that why he kept fighting the feeling of disappointment? Because the reality didn't live up to the hype?

Derek was not doing anything wrong per se, and there were the familiar feelings of excitement and even a physical reaction to it, but it was just _'not great'_.

"Alright, let's try this again."

"The plank?" Stiles asked, incredulously.

"Yes."

What was it with Derek and the plank, seriously? I mean, what's next? Squats? Push-ups? Jumping lunges? Was this Derek's subtle way of telling Stiles he should work out more? Although he just told him he was in pretty good shape. Was that an offhanded compliment?

 _Stop._ Stiles was overthinking it again and that was definitely not what he was supposed to be doing. He was supposed to be doing as he was told and nothing else. Give up control, clear his head and enjoy himself. This had to get enjoyable at some point, right? Derek was not a newbie Dom, he must have had some kind of agenda.

Stiles dropped back to the floor and assumed the position. His muscles started protesting way faster this time, but Stiles was determined to power through his discomfort.

That determination started to slip away when Derek began pacing again. This was getting ridiculous. He had no idea where this was going, but he was pretty sure it wasn't working. Normally Stiles would just go with it to give his play partner a chance to do what he planned, except Derek's odd behavior didn't give him much confidence.

"Derek?" Stiles sent him a questioning look.

Derek sighed, running a hand through his hair. "This isn't working for you, is it?"

"Well, I mean... Is this going somewhere?"

Derek's chuckle had no humor in it, he shook his head and Stiles flopped on the floor, giving up.

Well, this went "well". Almost as well as their first scene. After all the anticipation and nerves it was disappointing, to say the least. Perhaps they weren't really all that compatible. Perhaps he was better off just dreaming about Derek because once it came to the action...

No, that was not fair. Stiles immediately felt guilty for blaming the Dom. There was plenty of action between them before and it worked. In fact, it worked so well, Stiles went back on his principles for a chance to experience it again.

Derek dropped on the sofa, resting elbows on his knees and running a hand through his hair in obvious frustration. "I didn't really think it through I guess. My bad." He cast Stiles an apologetic smile and Stiles felt even worse for his initial spiteful thoughts. "The original plan was to have you do some mundane physical exercise while filling your mind with all the dirty stuff I'm gonna do to you and then strip you down and make good on those promises. I'd touch you, play with you, tease you, stimulate you, torture you... till you fail the exercise and give me an excuse to punish you."

Stiles almost groaned, imagining all the things Derek could be doing to him right now. He shifted on his heels subtly adjusting his cock which got very interested in the picture Derek just painted for him. God dammit, he would have loved that.

"But then you put a ban on sex and… I thought I could make it work either way, but then I kinda drew a blank."

Well, that explained the pacing and the awkward pauses. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize, I'm not trying to guilt-trip you."

"I know." Of course he knew that. Derek was just being honest. Talking about what worked, what didn't, and why was a common thing to do after a failed scene. At least if you cared enough for a repeat with the same partner. And Stiles was not ready to give up. "So... what now?"

"Well, if you want to give it another try, I have an idea."

Stiles was absolutely up for another try and after seeing the flicker of vulnerability on Derek's face, even more so. Most Tops took it personally when the scene flopped since they were the ones orchestrating it, and while it happened from time to time to pretty much everyone, it was still unpleasant and not exactly a confidence boost. And yes, even the arrogant cocky ones were not exempt from feeling down because of it.

"Sure, hit me," Stiles grinned, playing up his enthusiasm just in case.

Though Derek didn't seem to be needing it. "Oh, I intend to," he said, his smile turning devilish again and Stiles didn't expect to be this happy and relieved to see it. No matter what he said, he much preferred Derek to be obnoxiously cocksure than worriedly unsure. The latter just didn't fit. "Get dressed, we are switching rooms."

"Yes, Sir."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, stuff doesn't always work out... but our boys are not done yet^^  
> PS: I hope you recognized the reference to [The Sound of Silence](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=RZYpzXjdtwg);)


End file.
